What I'm not allowed to do for the next two days
1. Check my Torchwood filter (oh God, the fic and season 2 spoilers I'll have waiting for me by Wednesday).
2. Shuffle through my showtunes playlist, no matter how much I may want to overdose on Gershwin, Porter, or Webber.
3. Start conversations with anyone that involve the words "John Barrowman", "briefs", "stopwatch", "blues", "welshman", or "that microphone is very phallic, isn't it?". Probably the last especially.
4. Let my mind wander into the fabulously filthy gutter it's lived in this weekend.
5. Dial my t.v. into BBC America. This may be the hardest of my not alloweds.
Instead, I'm going to do something I haven't been able to focus my brain on in days: write on book two. I've only written 1,800 words since November ended and that's just pathetic. PATHETIC! Besides, someone is threatening me with a toss into the resort pool if I don't have a completed first draft to her by March.
Unrelated (though it's certainly made it easier to indulge in unallowed number 3), I used the portion of my big shiny bonus (don't ask me how we managed to pull that this year) that didn't go toward Christmas gifts or my BoA credit card bill to buy myself a growed up iPod. Nano. 4 gigger. I've named him George. Well, I originally named him George. Now he's looking more like a Jack.
Errrr, I think the "Who's our new boss going to be?" stress of the last two weeks has left me completely mental. Oh, the irony...
2. Shuffle through my showtunes playlist, no matter how much I may want to overdose on Gershwin, Porter, or Webber.
3. Start conversations with anyone that involve the words "John Barrowman", "briefs", "stopwatch", "blues", "welshman", or "that microphone is very phallic, isn't it?". Probably the last especially.
4. Let my mind wander into the fabulously filthy gutter it's lived in this weekend.
5. Dial my t.v. into BBC America. This may be the hardest of my not alloweds.
Instead, I'm going to do something I haven't been able to focus my brain on in days: write on book two. I've only written 1,800 words since November ended and that's just pathetic. PATHETIC! Besides, someone is threatening me with a toss into the resort pool if I don't have a completed first draft to her by March.
Unrelated (though it's certainly made it easier to indulge in unallowed number 3), I used the portion of my big shiny bonus (don't ask me how we managed to pull that this year) that didn't go toward Christmas gifts or my BoA credit card bill to buy myself a growed up iPod. Nano. 4 gigger. I've named him George. Well, I originally named him George. Now he's looking more like a Jack.
Errrr, I think the "Who's our new boss going to be?" stress of the last two weeks has left me completely mental. Oh, the irony...