raybear | Just to lay with you there's nothing that I wouldn't do, save lay my rifle down

The last two mornings I've been rolling out of bed when the alarm goes off (set for

dommeyourass's work schedule) and, get this, writing. On the novel.

My writing since graduation has been erratic, arriving in big bursts of energy and time, usually on some short story that pops in my head, nothing consistent, and there's nothing wrong with that per se, but I wanted to get back into a regular rhythm. Last year I was doing pretty well with the morning writings, but I fell out of the habit. I was inspired to get back into it by MFA-Husband saying he gets up every morning and gets ready for work a full hour before he needs to, showers, dresses in work clothes, and writes for an hour. And he says it makes him so calm and happy. I had forgotten this part of the comment until this morning, when I was typing and realized that I was humming some boppy made-up tune. It can best be described as a television theme song, if my life was one of an 80s quirky action hero. I was doing the same thing yesterday morning too.

I also wrote two e-mails to my senators saying I highly encouraged and completely had their back, should they decide to filibuster Alito. I know I should have called, but it's better than nothing.

My fancy new transit card arrived in the mail yesterday, so perhaps I'll use it to go downtown to deliver my teaching contract.

ETA: But first I will eat breakfast and watch James Frey appear live in Chicago, on Oprah to answer the challenges to his book! Score. I got reobsessed with the controversy after reading this quote:

John Dolan, co-editor of The eXile, a Moscow-based English-language alternative webzine [ http://www.exile.ru/ ], put it best last week, having long-doubted Mr. Frey's bona fides: "Rehab stories provide a way for pampered trust-fund brats like Frey to claim victim status. These swine already have money, security and position and now want to corner the market in suffering and scars, the consolation prizes of the truly lost. It's a fitting literary metonymy for the Bush era: The rich have decided to steal it all, even the tears of the losers."