Glasses Half Full
I am one of those self-deluding dorks who sets his alarm clock 15 minutes ahead in a mis-guided attempt to fool myself into getting up earlier in the ayem, so as not to rush through the morning in a stressful state in order to make my train.
"Oh god! It's 6 o'clock already!"
And then midway through my shower, I realize I've beeen had. By me. It doesn't take much, folks.
Perhaps I should have moved my calendar three days ahead so I could comfortably finish NaNo, instead of rushing toward the finish line. As of yesterday, I needed to average abut 5K words a day to meet the deadline. Last night, I pumped out just over that number.
And boy are my similies tired.
All this despite the fact I had to spend considerable time consoling AJ, who, after a doctor's visit yesterday found out he'll likely need glasses in the future.
"But honey, glasses are no longer the stigma they used to be. Rivers Cuomo changed all that."
"I don't WANT GLASSES!"
"And that kid in 'Jerry Maguire' wore huge, over-sized glasses to maximum cuteness and comedic effect."
"Daddy, I ain't gettin' no kinds of laid looking like Jonathan Lipnicki."
Or something like that.
Poker? Not 'til Thursday. I fear I am cutting the Vegas prep pretty thin. Gotta keep the chops warm, so to speak. Though, if there was ever a perfect dry run, a final exhibition, the invasion of the Hollywood Home Game this Friday by Pauly, Grubby (and Grubette) is sure to be one where you want to play your starters at least three quarters.
Just what that game needs: More action.