P.S. This blog was written Thursday am, but blogger was having problems, so it's belated...ah well.

It's-almost-Friday-itis

Thursday is my official day of procrastination. I don't just mean today. I mean every week. I only just realized it today that it is without fail a Thursday on which I feel like what was I thinking becoming a writer? Who was the idiot that said she could write these assignments? And where is the flunkie I can get in a hurry to do the work the idiot agreed to do before they realize what a fraud I am? It's some kind of syndrome that, in my former workplaces where there were co-workers with whom to commiserate, I would probably just write off to "it's-almost-friday-itis." But rather than fight it, from now on I am going to celebrate it with chocolate, a refusal to wear my bra (thanks Robin S.) and a dedication to use this day to do ANYTHING but work at my desk.

As soon as I get up I am going to continue reading Francine Prose's new book, A Changed Man, for our interview tomorrow. Then I am going to watch an episode of the X-Files (season 7. I've been rewatching the entire series because a) I wasn't ready to let it go b) I missed enough crucial episodes to leave huge gaps of knowledge c) I'm terrified to fall in love with another tv show).

And you've probably guessed by now by my absolute lack of discussion that i'm back to coffee. My digestive crisis has passed, or eased at least, and though I'm still going slim on all the other possible offenders, coffee is the only thing that really gets me up in the morning (There's a reason god made babies so loud...since mothers aren't supposed to drink coffee, how the hell else are they supposed to get out of bed).

Now, something strange has happened to my cat, Figaro. For the nearly nine years he has been with us, he has displayed a distinct inability to stalk, hunt, capture and kill anything more animate than a piece of string. He's found lots of strings, though, and we've rewarded him with praise as if they were flesh and blood creatures. But as of this month he has caught a rat and a very fat mouse. Now the mouse was in pretty good condition but sadly, the rat was not. (As I type, Figaro is sitting at my side demanding food. He's such a pain in the ass!). At any rate, it takes him an entire day to get over the loss of his beloved rodents. I just don't understand why it has taken him nine years to learn to hunt. He must have apprenticed with one of the local cats. I do not understand.

I did get another thirty pages of my novel changed to third person today, and that's about the best I'm going to do, I'm afraid.

P.S. another person named Jordan Rosenfeld emailed me today. Weird. I don't know if that person is male or female.