After a nightmarish week of audits at my job, I finally settled in for what would be a nightmarish three-day weekend of leisure. I was looking down the barrel of more deadlines than I wanted to think about; working on my crappy novel aside, I had two restaurant reviews due, a project for a friend of mine who shall remain nameless but around here he goes by calamityjon, not one but two interviews to whip into shape (one with Rob Miller of Bloodshot and one with John C. Reilly), and four articles to do -- 8 pages on the Firesign Theatre, 5 on the Minutemen, 4 on Bendis & Oeming's "Powers" and a three-page piece on "anti-comedy" (Mary-Lynn Rajskub, Andy Kindler, Neil Hamburger, etc.). Astonishingly, I was able to finish ALL this shit except for the Rob Miller interview and one of the restaurant reviews. Oh, also, I did zero work on the crappy novel, and wrote two very lame Ludic Log entries. But I finished the lion's share of it, and it's possible some of it didn't even suck, despite my having to twist my own arm to sit in front of the goddamn machine and write all weekend.
Also, I had a very lovely dinner and conversations Friday night with a wonderful friend of mine, and then Saturday night, I did a reading at Mojoe's Cafe with some other people as part of a monthly Self-Publisher's Events Council promotion. Not only did I do okay myself despite being wired up like a fuckin' jack in the box (just KEEP ME AWAY FROM THE COFFEE, OKAY EVERYBODY THANKS HEY ARE YOU GONNA DRINK THAT BLOOD?!? HAHAHAHA), but also, despite my worst fears (believe me, I've been to these kinds of things before), most of the other readers didn't suck. In fact, quite a few of them were very good, and I'm gonna go to the next one as well, so unexpectedly unshitty was this whole experience.
After the reading, I went home -- no, let's be honest, I went the HELL home, did some more writing, went to sleep until the cat woke me up, and then wrote all motherfucking day Sunday but now I'm DONE ALMOST EXCEPT FOR SOME OTHER STUFF, and I can go home tonight with a semi-clear conscience and sleep.
And then tomorrow, I ain't goin' to work, because it's White Sox Opening Day! As usual, I am going to the game with rum_holiday (this time accompanied by her charming husband, who I intend to bore to death with endless spiel about why baseball is more awesomer than football), and we will eat delicious ballpark food, hopefully get a Sox win, and if all goes well, not freeze to death or be rained on. (For some reason, the two annual traditions rum_holiday and I have, Opening Day and the St. Patrick's Day parade, are almost always accompanied by hideously bad weather. But we've been lucky with the parade the last couple of years, so maybe we won't get deluged at White Sox Park tomorrow. Hope springs eternal.)
So, there you go. That's my life. Aren't you glad I usually don't write about it?