There's a lot about being busy that I love. For example, I generally tend to be busy doing things that I like to a certain extent -- the things that occupy my attention are things I value and enjoy. And when I'm busy in my usual fashion, it means a lot of bopping back and forth from place to activity to person, and in the process of this I feel wanted and appreciated and active and happy. This isn't a positive aspect of my character, necessarily, but it does cast some light on why I take on more than I really should, why there are piles of unread books and magazines in my room and unanswered email in my in-box, why I'm always so tired, why the closest I come to having a free night this week is Thursday, when I'll receive incoming brother at apartment, buy food for brother to eat (due to complete lack of food in apartment), design quickie website for personal project, make headway on Bookslut column for next month, pack for Comic-Con, and, potentially, sleep.
Take last night. Out of work at 6:15 (an early night, blessed be), arrived at my friend's house by 7, walked over to Sunset to see a sneak preview of Catwoman at 7:30. (Catwoman, sadly, wasn't even amusingly bad, just kinda dull, overly cutty, and plagued by decent ideas that never really came to full fruition. But hey, it was free and it was advance, so I can spare a lot of people the trouble of caring.)
After Halle Berry's underwhelming performance (everything was underwhelming in that movie), we went back and watched key scenes from Batman Returns to remove the image of Halle Berry whoring it up and replace it with the image of Michelle Pfeiffer tearing it up. And then, around 10:30, I went to the gym. Got home at 11:30. Showered, dried hair, watched a bit of last week's The Jury as I put lotion on my legs. Poked at a thing I'm trying to get done before the weekend.
Roommate came home. Talked to her for a little bit. Did some more poking at the thing. Read out loud bits of the thing to das roomie. She asked me questions. Das Roomie is exceptionally good at asking me questions about the things that I write. All she ever asks is "What's it about? Why do I care? Why are you bothering me with this?" but being asked those sorts of questions is extremely helpful to my creative process, a process often scattered with painful moments of self-realization and bad, half scrawled bits of dialogue and random character name changes. (Last night, "Tim the Science Guy" became "Dan Jackson, Man of Action." It's really not supposed to make sense.)
2:15 AM: Bed.
The day after getting less than six hours of sleep is always an uneasy sway between punch-drunk goofiness and cranky swipes at any and all who ire me. There's been a lot of ire potential today. I wish to do violence.
I'll just have to settle for more poking at the punch-drunk goofy, ultraviolent Thing.