Procrastination is an art
- Dyed my roots.
- Sorted the recycling.
- Added a Frappr map to my blog, thanks to The Uffish Princess (and of course, add yourselves immediately...helloooooo...)
- Finally met some of my favorite bloggers and proceeded to get thoroughly hammered with/near them. (Thanks for showing up, kids! Can't wait until the next one...)
- Purposely farted on some bigoted snatches who desperately deserved it. (No, really. Call one of my friends a faggot and see what I do to you. Go ahead. They got off easy.)
- Obsessed about my cat's potentially cancerous tumor (there's an 80% chance that it's malignant. Fak.)
- Played computer games geared toward third graders, because they're the only ones I'm any good at.
- Repeatedly checked the NaNoWriMo word count of someone I can't fucking stand, and then obsessed because he's about 40% done with his goddamn book already.
Conclusions, based on the above:
- Neurotic much, Helen?
- At least I still got it. The procrastination skillz, dat is.
- If I still do my best work under pressure, I should be able to sell this novel (which will undoubtedly be written in the last week of the contest) for a bazillion dollars and retire to Mexico with some young tart of a man.
Now, I believe I'll go re-organize my closet. You know, in preparation for all of the brilliant writing I'm going to do this evening.