I've been having difficulty motivating myself to complete (read: start) the script I need for rehearsal with students on Monday. Sure, sure, it's not like I haven't been busy...but, um, like, I just want to eat tacos and watch tv.
My current plan to improve tonight's word-count: drink an entire bottle of wine.
Among the obvious benefits of sitting on one's deck eating cereal while watching the sailboats on the water is overhearing the neighbors:
Father: Hey, hey! C'mere! This is a Rush song!
7-year-old Daughter: What?
Father: Remember we were talking about Rush earlier? This song starts out great!
An entirely different 7-year-old child asked me this week if I had any Black Sabbath. This is the same kid who, moments earlier, had neener-neener-ed the girls when I said that no girls could sit next to each other without his realizing that I had actually said so because I didn't want the boys to sit next to each other. (There were ten girls and four boys in the class.)
I'm supposed to be watching many plays by women right now, but instead I'm wondering how many pain-killers it might take to remove the ice-pick lodged at the base of my skull...and now I'm thinking about Leon Trotsky.