Don't you hate that feeling of not really knowing what you're hungry for, but being really certain that it can't be found in the confines of your apartment? Further exacerbated by a complete lack of clean dishes and spoons (can't drink any more coffee until I was dishes unless I want to drink it straight out of the pot, and I really hope it doesn't come to that moment.) Oh, and the fact I have been trying to clear out the fridge and cabinets for break. Me want pancakes.
Since I don't have Clarke's just down the street, which I know is open 24/7 and necessarily serving pancakes at any hour I require them, I had to jump online to see if anyone else knew. Smokin' Fairy suggested Bob Evans, but I didn't really want to sit in some joint and shovel pancakes and syrup into my face, wearing my jammies, by myself. As I debated the merits of carryout, he volunteered to come with, because all of this talk of pancakes was making him hungry too.
Discussed our respective projects that we were avoiding, bad relationship stories, and why being in a wedding sucks/rocks. 2 hours later, we were still in the parking lot.
On one hand, that was two more hours I could have spent finding new and creative ways of calling Pinter out on his misogyny. Then again, those two hours would have been spent being grumpy and hungry. And now those multigrain pancakes and sausage links are fueling the writing as I wait for my magic hour of productivity, which of late has been hitting somewhere around 3AM, hence the late posting. While 3AM is not exactly optimal, at least I have a productive hour, and I know when it is.
3 more minutes. And about 3000 more words to go. *sigh*
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
You need the bullshit in massive amounts. Im not using it....who has it? Come on, give it up! Marissa is in need!
Post a Comment