I always wind up grumpy and frustrated when I get no writing done during the day (because sometimes, the housework that needs doing, and the child who needs company, don’t allow it; sometimes I’m ruthless and get the writing done despite the child, but I’m not a very ruthless person). I get no writing done during the day and reassure myself that that night, I’ll stay up late and get it all done.
Some nights, that’s true. Plenty of nights, actually. But then there’s nights like this, where I was nearly dozing off on the couch, and will go fast asleep after publishing this.
I intensely dislike it when I bank on myself and don’t come through.
Particularly when the work is piling up.
Ah well. Pay me no heed. I’m just complaining. If it were a bar, I’d be sitting at the corner, griping over my beer at the bartender and the television, neither of whom would be paying me any attention.
Tomorrow. Lots done tomorrow. For reals.
David Tennant is finished as the Doctor. We watched his last stand this afternoon. My eyes were more than a little misty by the end. The actual plot, with the Time-Lords and the Master, wasn’t all that great. But it somehow didn’t matter, because Tennant and Bernard Cribbins carried the episode, and the last half-an-hour or so was heartbreaking and amazing. And I’m looking forward to seeing what happens next.
Unlike everyone else I know. Sheesh. My wife, and Kristine both dislike, or make grumbly noises about the new Doctor. Well, someone once said that everyone winds up with a favorite Doctor, against who the following ones don’t compare. I suspect theirs is David Tennant. I suspect mine is too, but I enjoy the show enough that even as I mourn his passing, I’m excited to see the next stories.
Okay. Bed-time, you cold, cold, cold world.