magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

I started writing my novel during my morning commute. It's not a bad place to write fiction. A little disjointed, but most of what I write is anyway. The only real drawback is that I still have to type it. Which, aside from the extra effort, means that I have to re-read it, which means I'll want to edit it, which I can't do if I have any hopes of reaching 50k words by the end of the month.

At 5pm I burned a CD with what is in all probability, the last election graphic. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with myself after tomorrow. I'm sure there will still be work for me at PDG, but this project has had such momentum that it sort of felt like it would never end. And I could count on 40+ hour, every week. Although, filling out my invoice today, I realized that I didn't once leave my desk for lunch last week. Three days I had no lunch at all. And the other two involved one hand on the keyboard and the other on a spoon in a cup of soup. And I just made 40 hours. Which at my pay rate adds up to an insult for the amount of work that causes you to work through lunch five days straight.

Leaving work, I was a little disappointed that Ellen didn't call or write or come in search of my desk. But of course I didn't call or write or go in search of her desk either. And truthfully, I really don't have any idea what I expect or want to come from this. She probably feels the same way. We've had fun drinking together, but that's sort of to be expected.

I wrote some more on the train home. I'm up to 644 words.

Made dinner, then met Chris at Kings County for a couple of Monday night beers and conversation about girls.