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Sleep debt
I think I may have gotten almost 7 hours of sleep last night. Need to get more sleep. Aiming for lights out by eleven tonight, because the sleep deprivation thing is getting ridiculous. I was dozing today in my history lecture - favorite class, adore the professor, etc. I mean, sure, the 13th Century invention of double-entry bookkeeping isn't the most fascinating aspect of the middle ages, except for a few very special people, but. Shouldn't be falling asleep in that class. Worse, even when I was awake I couldn't seem to take notes properly - staring stupidly at the professor, trying to synthesize a line, then scrambling to catch up because he's already on to something else. So. Sleep deprivation = bad.
Happily, I think my fit of total loathing for the story I'm working on may be on the downhill side now - I've figured out what I need to trash, and what I need to add, and which pov needs to be rewritten, in order to make it work, or at least come closer to working. Resolutely ignoring the fact that I'm a third of the way in and still dealing with what was supposed to be, like, a scene.
And in the world of things that actually happen in the actual world, I went out for dinner after work, to the Chinese restaurant a couple of blocks away. I eat there about once a week. Especially when it's cold, throat-scaldingly-hot egg drop soup always sounds good, and, due to a difference of opinion with the vending machine regarding whether it should actually dispense the bag of popcorn I paid for (it won), I didn't have any lunch. So, traipsed off to China Gate. Dinner time, rather than lunch, so it would be more expensive, and as today's the day before payday and I had wasted two dollars on trying to get food from the vending machine, I was a bit low on cash. No matter. That's what credit cards are for, and I had enough cash to leave a tip at the table.
Realized, when I'd already eaten, that I left my wallet on my desk this morning - after all, what was I going to need it for? Moment of total panic. Imagined trying to explain the situation, tried to imagine what possible guarantee I could give that I would pay. Counted my money; I had all but forty-nine cents of the bill in my pocket. Checked my coat, and came up with a handful of silver change - sixty-five cents. Debated leaving the three nickels I didn't need to pay the bill as a pathetic attempt at a tip, but thought it might be more insulting than a total failure to tip and was in any case feeling completely embarrassed. Gathered up my stuff, paid, fled.
[This is me, not telling you about my bourgeois tart of a roommate who claims that I and my best friend do not tip because we don't respect the working class, and why she's wrong on all counts, and I never liked her anyway, and she has stupid hair.]
Classes attended today: 1
Classes slept in: 1
Hours at work: 4
Hours spent working: 4 (all of them on the scanner, producing pdf's for a single course page. We love you too, Professor.)
Younger brothers feedbacked: 1, and I was as nice as I possibly could be.
Happily, I think my fit of total loathing for the story I'm working on may be on the downhill side now - I've figured out what I need to trash, and what I need to add, and which pov needs to be rewritten, in order to make it work, or at least come closer to working. Resolutely ignoring the fact that I'm a third of the way in and still dealing with what was supposed to be, like, a scene.
And in the world of things that actually happen in the actual world, I went out for dinner after work, to the Chinese restaurant a couple of blocks away. I eat there about once a week. Especially when it's cold, throat-scaldingly-hot egg drop soup always sounds good, and, due to a difference of opinion with the vending machine regarding whether it should actually dispense the bag of popcorn I paid for (it won), I didn't have any lunch. So, traipsed off to China Gate. Dinner time, rather than lunch, so it would be more expensive, and as today's the day before payday and I had wasted two dollars on trying to get food from the vending machine, I was a bit low on cash. No matter. That's what credit cards are for, and I had enough cash to leave a tip at the table.
Realized, when I'd already eaten, that I left my wallet on my desk this morning - after all, what was I going to need it for? Moment of total panic. Imagined trying to explain the situation, tried to imagine what possible guarantee I could give that I would pay. Counted my money; I had all but forty-nine cents of the bill in my pocket. Checked my coat, and came up with a handful of silver change - sixty-five cents. Debated leaving the three nickels I didn't need to pay the bill as a pathetic attempt at a tip, but thought it might be more insulting than a total failure to tip and was in any case feeling completely embarrassed. Gathered up my stuff, paid, fled.
[This is me, not telling you about my bourgeois tart of a roommate who claims that I and my best friend do not tip because we don't respect the working class, and why she's wrong on all counts, and I never liked her anyway, and she has stupid hair.]
Classes attended today: 1
Classes slept in: 1
Hours at work: 4
Hours spent working: 4 (all of them on the scanner, producing pdf's for a single course page. We love you too, Professor.)
Younger brothers feedbacked: 1, and I was as nice as I possibly could be.