So last night I went to dinner with some friends after work. This is a good and fun thing. So you know, walking down the street from the train to the place I’m on the phone with Laszlo. I am on the phone to Laszlo at least once a week. Shit, since I met him we spend at least an hour a week on the phone. Talking writing, strange shit, work, the universe and his car. It’s what we do, you see.

So I’m walking down the street and talking to Laszlo and discussing a writing project. More than one, really. And jawing about some other writers and shooting the shit and I just realized I was supposed to mail him last night and didn’t but that’s all right because I didn’t get the info I was gonna mail him anyway … and then I show up and have dinner.

Dinner, friends, discussions, hilarity. Joe saw a homeless guy sitting outside of a bar, just staring into their window. Sometimes the guy would look all excited and scream out “BACON!” None of us really find a problem with this behavior. We understand it.

We discuss all sorts of shit, including having Leonard Nimoy say “fuck” like 30 times in 5 minutes while discussing Hugh Grant (Not my story so I won’t tell it but that’s pretty much the key point anyway).

After dinner there is the going home part.

Mind you by the time I get home it’s like 10:30. That’s it. So I get home and my cat is utterly enthused. He loves me. He adores me. He’s missed me like the sky misses the sun. Because his food bowl is almost empty. Almost, in his terms, is “you can see a spot of the bottom of the bowl”. So I toss a tiny bit of food there to fix the problem and go sit down.

I haven’t pulled my boots off before he has eaten and then come back to bitch and moan. Because it is empty, can’t I tell? Well the food bowl issue is dealt with again (by shaking the bowl with my foot so the food covers the bottom of the bowl) and then he goes for the gold.

He starts to whine and then run to the bowl and then whine and run back to me. Trying to see if maybe, if he acts hungry enough, I’ll add even MORE food. This does not work. He gives up and accepts some petting as a consolation prize.

I check some email, answer some email, read some Intardweb pages. It’s about 11:30. So I go to bed, where I curl up with a book and a cat and read till 1ish. Then I fitfully try to sleep until 3, wake up at 5 pass back out until my alarm goes off at 7:35.

This is, pretty much, my life.

Tonight I’ll go straight home and write for a few hours. Then maybe I’ll go down to the bar and have a beer. I might not. I could even end up going back downtown late tonight. But that’s about it. Weekend? Equally high-life. Writing most of the day. Then maybe a bit of seeing a friend or two.

Hell, soon I’m going to have a week off. I am going to spend it writing from 9-12, then having lunch and cleaning for an hour or two, then writing till 7. Yup.

Life of motherfuckin’ excitement. Mind you, it’s exactly how I want to spend my time. I’m just sayin’.