![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Why must all of my creative endeavors flower after midnight? Why? Are they Mogwi?
If you see me tomorrow, be kind. It's going to be a 3.5-er tonight...and I was attempting to go to bed at a reasonable time for a change...funny...FUNNNY...
Alex: I owe you 20...but revise on project #2 is done...and bio (oh, how I deteste thee), and writing mission statement draft right now...will have "history" done tomorrow...
Marc: Don't hate me. I still love you. Game is wonderful thing. I shall get homework done. BEFORE next game...assuming next game isn't this weekend. If it is...well...I'll get *some* done...(What was I *thinking* doing character history in screenplay format...insane stupid fun insane...:-D) Marc, did I mention that I love you?
Fictionados: Reading. Reading. Reading. Will have critiques and will be there. WILL WILL WILL, dammit. Such great writing. I...am...such...a...hack...
The Job: I'm learning, and tired of falling down. Getting up, dusting myself off, and kicking ass. So sayeth the shepherd, so sayeth the flock! Getting organized (the trip to Office Depo helped), and will get it all knocked out! Even if it kills me (which it just might). Meeting to attendon tuesday night...on wednesday night...thursday all day? I'm starting to keep track of milage now...taxes...mmmm...
TV: I hate you. I love you. I hate you. DAmn you and your newfound quality programing. Don't you know I haven't got Tivo? That I have no cable? How issit that I must suffer watching taped eppys of such wonderful television. Damn you. Damn you to Heck! Freaking Battlestar...freaking Lost...freaking addicting reality tv...grrrr....
Michael: Um, I owe you a birthday phonecall...sometime today...keep your laster ready...trust know one...answer your phone...it might be me weilding virtual happy birthday hugs, mah brutha!
Bed now, yesh...I don't want to even think about waking up in the morning...
If you see me tomorrow, be kind. It's going to be a 3.5-er tonight...and I was attempting to go to bed at a reasonable time for a change...funny...FUNNNY...
Alex: I owe you 20...but revise on project #2 is done...and bio (oh, how I deteste thee), and writing mission statement draft right now...will have "history" done tomorrow...
Marc: Don't hate me. I still love you. Game is wonderful thing. I shall get homework done. BEFORE next game...assuming next game isn't this weekend. If it is...well...I'll get *some* done...(What was I *thinking* doing character history in screenplay format...insane stupid fun insane...:-D) Marc, did I mention that I love you?
Fictionados: Reading. Reading. Reading. Will have critiques and will be there. WILL WILL WILL, dammit. Such great writing. I...am...such...a...hack...
The Job: I'm learning, and tired of falling down. Getting up, dusting myself off, and kicking ass. So sayeth the shepherd, so sayeth the flock! Getting organized (the trip to Office Depo helped), and will get it all knocked out! Even if it kills me (which it just might). Meeting to attend
TV: I hate you. I love you. I hate you. DAmn you and your newfound quality programing. Don't you know I haven't got Tivo? That I have no cable? How issit that I must suffer watching taped eppys of such wonderful television. Damn you. Damn you to Heck! Freaking Battlestar...freaking Lost...freaking addicting reality tv...grrrr....
Michael: Um, I owe you a birthday phonecall...sometime today...keep your laster ready...trust know one...answer your phone...it might be me weilding virtual happy birthday hugs, mah brutha!
Bed now, yesh...I don't want to even think about waking up in the morning...
