Then again, I've spent much of the day dog-tired. Halfway to passing out on the sofa in front of Dylan Moran's Monster stand-up DVD after getting in from work and thinking "I should sleep now. Wait, if I do that I'll get up at four in the morning. Might as well go cull some pineapples. The bastards are going feral."
The stupid thing is, I've got an idea for a short story begging to be written. Or rather, I've got a small scene that I want to use and thus a short story is the best way to do it. Global Frequency meets office politics meets Vector 13. But I will not. Not yet. I know my urge for procrastination all too well, and once I get a few paragraphs in I'll drop it because I'm too tired and never revisit it.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I concentrate. Tonight, I do that sleeping thing. Just closing my eyes for a couple of seconds is giving me a massive rush, convincing my body that this time I might just sleep. It's a cheap mindhack to banish the tiredness for a few minutes and I'm dangerously close to pushing it too far. But what the hell.
Roll on the week after next. The joys of time away from the day job. Were it not for that promise the current dearth of words would be seriously getting me down. I'm better than this. When I'm awake, anyway.