jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

This would have been a longer post, but I lost my password and spent too much time trying to guess. It’s 4:54 and I have a conference call at 5. I’ll do what I can.

I’m utterly tired. I have that feeling where my eyelids are burning on the inside and I want to rub them with my fists like a little kid. But, strange as it may sound, I feel okay. I mean, other than really tired. Sometimes when I’m tired I feel like I want to cry, but I don’t have that today.

It’s well-earned fatigue. Damon and I went out last night to get Em and Lo to sign their book for me and Sarah. They’re the fantastic sex advice columnists on Nerve.com, should anyone see this. Anyway, we hit it off and wound up spening the whole evening with them. We shut down the Local, doing karaoke until 2am. Actually, I watched, but everyone else sang. Damon and Matt Horgan did Islands in the Stream, while Em and Lo did Steal My Sunshine. A great time was had all the way around.

But now I’m tired.

And I haven’t even begun to get into packing. Since I’m moving to DC. I took a new job with AOL and I’ve already started — working from afar. I think I’ll like it, although I feel more lost than found right now. And I’m not looking forward to being separated from Damon for about three months, give or take.

Daniel left for Chicago Sunday night and I cried in front of a bunch of people.

A full day off. Not a single obligation — work or social — for an entire Friday. I’ve celebrated so far by getting up and watching “The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood” on cable (don’t bother) and then taking a three-hour nap. I don’t even know if you can call sleeping for three hours a nap. It’s somewhere between that and taking a half night.

My neck! Is broken, or something. I know that last time I wrote I was avoiding a script, but I’m doing it again. And I made my deadline last time. And I’ll make it again. I’m tired of writing about chicken pox. You know how it is.

It’s my goal to be tucked in by midnight. I did it by 12:30 last night, but then watched an old tape of “Pump Up the Volume” until about 2. So this time I’m going to do better. Probably.

Sarah and I gave away the chairs in our living room tonight. We’re both rustling around, getting ready to clear out. Not that it’s definitely imminent. But better to get started now. I feel melancholy about my domestic bliss breaking up, but I suspect I’ll be able to create new domestic bliss.

This is what you’d call cutting off your nose to spite your face. I have work due in the morning — a script about computers — and instead I’m trying (in vain) to make a photo small enough to get it uploaded on Live Journal. I’m moderately technically proficient, but only just. I have no idea how people do all the fancy things they do with their journals.

Sometimes looking for freelance work feels a lot like dating. If I try to hard I feel pathetic, but if I don’t try at all I suspect I won’t get anywhere. So I’m trying to strike that balance. Just like in dating, I tend to lean more towards not trying — I like to fantasize that good things will just fall in my lap. It happens sometimes.