Yvi

I can't sleep, so I'm drinking Vanilla Coke Zero, which tastes absolutely foul, but damn it, if I'm up, I'm plowing straight on till morning.

Inidentally, following up that "who am I fooling?" question? Heh. A: Not a damn soul.

That one meeting, on Thursday? I was so proud of myself for getting there and figuring out the parking system on time that I didn't realize till afterward, when I couldn't find my keys, that they were in my car. Which was still running. Oh, yeah. Never locked my keys in the car in my life, so apparently karma decided to make up for lost time. I spent most of the afternoon fiddling with a coat hanger donated from a maintenance man's dry cleaning, whipping out my bobby pin to poke at one of the locks, and letting my coworker snap a few photos of me perched on the trunk like a reject from corporate Vogue. Then AAA came and my boss was all, "Hey, at least this didn't happen halfway down the driveway at the Singaporean embassy!" and I got gas and did not have a dead battery and all was right with the world.

Such are the adventures of Fritz, the Faithful Focus that Could, and his dunce of a driver, yours truly.

Writer's block is still horrible. Is it typical to go months without feeling any pride in one's writing? Lately, I feel like all I've turned out is half-formed gibberish. And now, because I am a true temperamental artiste, I'm doing really cliche things like letting it keep me up at night, clutching a pillow, and waiting for the universe to tell me I don't completely fail at everything.

Vanilla Coke Zero is totally not a tragically artistic drink, but it's the best I can do.