11 March 2001

Well, Timprov and I got Mark safely to the airport for his unexpected business trip to Washington, DC, and came back home to meet up with Tim and Megan. And we chatted and had Olive Garden food, which was nice. For Tim and me. Maybe not so nice for Timprov and Megan, since neither of them was doing so well by the time dinner was over. So I waved good-bye to Tim and Megan and dosed Timprov with NyQuil and got him to bed. And it's just me around here. This is weird. Being effectively alone in the apartment is a morning thing for me, because I'm much more of a morning person than Mark or Timprov. But my body clearly knows it's not morning. Physically confusing, although my brain is fine with it.

And I'm at loose ends. I want to get a little work done, but no scenes are jumping out saying, "write me!" It's going to be the slightly harder kind of work, then. I don't really want to read The Closing of the American Mind or Fusan: The Chinese Who Built America or even one of the fiction books in my cue (The Anubis Gates, The Land of Laughs, some Bradley Denton book or another, and The Blind Assassin, in no particular order). I'm just on the borderline of "too tired"; I think I'm going to work and then go to bed. Sorry this is such a short entry. I'm going to try to get plenty of sleep so as not to join the ranks of The Ill. I promise a good long one soon, perhaps even tomorrow.

Sick people, get better. Now.