I should be working, of course, but I'm approaching the start of this week cautiously.

I overslept. Sort of. The alarm kept going off, and I kept not getting up. I wasn't precisely late, but I didn't have a lot of time to spare by the time I was ready to head for the car.

While waiting for the elevator, I dumped a full cup of coffee on the hall carpet, so I had to go back into the apartment, start another cup of coffee brewing, get some rags to soak up the spilled coffee, and dig out the Resolve so I could spot-treat the hallway carpet.

This is never a good start to a day. (I suppose some would think that the public hallway carpet wasn't their problem, but I see it differently.)

I need to cut my fingernails. I caught the apostrophe key with the edge of a fingernail first thing this morning and now I can't get the stupid cover to stay on.

Five minutes ago I figured out I've had my contact lenses in the wrong eyes for the past four hours. (It may sound minor to some of you, but I assure you that having the world snap back into focus is a lovely sensation.)

I'm hoping that the new clarity of the computer monitor, and of the notes I made on Friday, will go a long way toward erasing my continuing indifference to the work I'm paid to do. It bothers me that, after close to ten months of employment, I still haven't managed to gather any enthusiasm for this job. I mean, I have plenty of time to dink around, no one looks over my shoulder or sets impossible deadlines for accomplishing things, and I'm overpaid. What's not to like?

And yet, day after day, I come in, think of a few useful things I could do, and fail to do them. I don't really miss being a workaholic, but I do wish my work ethic would at least visit me from time to time.

On the other hand, it visited me last week and I worked all week to get some material written that Alvin wanted to take with him on his trip today. And then late in the week, the client called and cancelled the meeting, so I had to drop everything, including the on-the-verge-of-completion projects to spend two hours arguing with Orbitz and canceling the car and hotel reservations. So, even when I do work, it's wasted time.

I'm making excuses. Right now, at this moment, I could pick up the phone and call any of six people with whom I'm supposed to be establishing a business relationship. The fact that I'm not doing so is what I need to focus on.

Okay, enough of that.

I had a nice weekend. A very nice weekend. Cleaned out the hallway closet (a once a year, day-long exercise), made six trips to the dumpster to get rid of unloved debris, cleaned the bathroom, dusted, bought three new shirts, and ate out twice. I bought some other stuff, too. I don't remember what it all was at the moment, but I'm sure it was all lovely.

Put like that, it doesn't sound like much, but I also slept until 10:30 Saturday morning (no doubt exhausted by the press of non-work last week), watched three movies, read 3-1/2 books, and drank innumerable cups of coffee.

Okay, it still doesn't sound like much, but I think you had to be there.

I had a nice weekend.

Speaking of me (Heh. Heh. Egomania!), I took another look at what I wrote last week and confirmed my previous decision to bury the prose in an unmarked grave. I did come up with one thing I want to keep for whatever story I might wind up writing, and that's Walter's grumpy reflections on the dearth of romance in today's society. (Hopefully this will be funnier than it sounds.)

He finds Mulder...less than convincing in that area. I do see Walter as a romantic kind of guy, really. I can understand why he was less than bowled over by Mulder just dropping a casual, "hey, you wanna do me?" into a conversation. Once Walter stops brooding over this, I guess Mulder's going to have to put some real effort into the situation if he wants to get what he wants.

Also, I have to work SB into it somehow, because I haven't written a story with a peculiar sex toy in quite a long time.

I was recently reminded, by someone who doesn't mind dredging up my past sins, of a particular excess committed in reference to a tiny cowboy hat and some other accessories. Also, a fire hydrant, if I'm not mistaken, although I don't remember such a thing and refuse to believe I wrote anything of the sort.

(I consider such reminders to be unforgivable acts of memory from people who usually pretend to be my friends. Do I remind any of you of the more embarrassing things you've written? I do not. Let's have a little charity in return, okay?)

Anyhow, that's my concept for the story so far. I hope it suits JiM's demands. It's all she's likely to get. Some yakking, maybe some arguing, some weird behavior from Mulder, that kind of thing.

In the meantime, though, I'm still more interested in the OaT story.

With my roommate out of town for the next five days, I plan to re-watch episodes and figure out a way past a little plot-related dry spot I've run into.

I need the guys to mess something up (well, that won't be hard), but in a particular way. so that they're giving a particular task as punishment, you see, and then can mess that up, and then be punished with this other particular task that I haven't entirely figured out yet.

That's all I'm giving you. If I tell you the entire story now, no one will even pretend to go and read it when it's done.

I will say that large portions of the story were inspired by The Art of War, for no better reason than I decided they could be. There's some good stuff there, trust me.

(In TAoW, I mean, not in my story.)

(Funny is where you find it, okay? I found 'funny' in TAoW before this Iraq thing and I'm hoping recent events haven't spoiled the mood.)

(Can we elect someone different next time? I hate getting government in my slash.)

"Voices" are always a problem when I haven't been watching a show recently. It's impossible for me to capture the characters voices and mannerisms in any convincing or recognizable fashion unless I've been immersing myself in episodes. (Another thing I accomplished this weekend was to make a list of XF episodes I'll have to re-watch before I can write that story.)

Of course with my roommate out of town for the next five days, it's quite possible I'll spend every spare minute sitting in a chair and reading. That's what I usually do when I'm left to myself for any length of time. Being alone for a few days is just license to sit and peacefully read a book (or a dozen books) with no one reminding me to do anything more 'productive' or more likely to contribute to the betterment of society.

My interest in the betterment of society tends to be like my interest in working, or sleeping, or paying bills. It's an okay way to spend the time you're not allowed to spend reading a book.

Right about now, you're asking yourself, "Is she making this entry because she had something to say, or because she just thought she should make a new entry," right?

I ain't telling.