On a bad day, who would you kill?

The problem with giving myself an entire day and an entire evening to work on writing is that I have a hard time getting started when I know there's an expansive stretch of time ahead of me. Which is why it's two o'clock and I'm finally having some lunch and I still haven't done as much as I planned. But it hasn't been a total waste of a morning, since I did take Sophie for a jog and returned a couple phone calls, including one that will hopefully result in a check to pay September rent. And I re-read the Kundera short story that Coxy gave me and read some about Mikhail Bulgakov and decided to use my giftcard to buy materials to learn russian.

So yeah, I decided I want to learn spanish and russian but I don't have money for lessons, so I'll start on my own than perhaps barter with someone later (put out an ad offering free english lessons in exchange). I think it's part of my self-improvement campaign that started when I quit my day job. I figured if I'm going to be a freelancer/part-time worker/starving artist, during slow periods I'd rather not lie around and watch daytime television and make myself depressed (as I am prone to do) and instead will exercise and meditate and study and cook and now, apparently, learn a language. At least I'll be enlightened in my poverty.

I spent most of yesterday in the library with DYA and got a good bit of work done. I love the library. Perhaps I should apply for a part-time job there as well. Except my research gig is in the library, so I might get burnt out. Or I might completely thrive. My to-do list for my life after this weekend is getting longer and longer. I can't believe it's already mid-August. Though you wouldn't think it by the weather. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind the temporary respite from hot weather, I just wish it wouldn't be so extreme. I'm sitting here in jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and Lowenstein's fuzzy slippers.

For real this time. Must write.