drafts

My blogger account is full of italics. They're all blogs I started and have yet to finish.

Sometimes I think it's comical but sad - just how much I have to say.

Like about how my eleven year old niece told me the other day I am "not meant to be married" or how odd it is how excited I get over my Fall Preview issue of New York Magazine.

Or how my screenwriting class has reawakened my love of film. Suddenly all I want to do is spend rainy afternoons with black and white favorites like All About Eve and Holiday and The Philadelphia Story. Then I want to fill up on favorites like The Family Stone, Annie Hall, Sweet Home Alabama, Practical Magic and You've Got Mail.

I want to take equal sides by watching Angelina Jolie in Beyond Borders and Jennifer Aniston in Friends With Money. Then I want to let Robert Redford redeem Brad Pitt in Spy Game.

I want to buddy up to Dustin Hoffman and Redford in All The President's Men, continue my journalistic aspirations with Michael Keaton and the lovely Helena Bonham Carter in Live From Baghdad. Run with Keaton again through The Paper and then get delighted by Carter's lover boy with Tim Burton's A Nightmare Before Christmas - continue the fun with a little of The Incredibles and then grow up again with the brat pack in St. Elmo's Fire.

But I digress...

I have no immediate deadlines for Thursday. No classes and no overbearing homework assignments. This means one very important thing....

I get to sleep in my own bed.

Nobody understands my sleeping habits. Frankly, neither do I. I used to make like my grandparents and get up by way of mental alarm clock. By 5:30, 6:00 a.m. I was in the shower. Twenty minutes later, dressed and out for my morning walk. I munched on a bagel and coffee and got in a little reading before heading off to work.

No more. I lost my job and fell out of my routine. I fell even further taking this night job. Now, getting into bed means complete surrender to slumber and I will not wake up at a specific time. I tried.

So I sleep in various places so I never feel too comfy. The chaise, the love seat, the sofa...the floor. I use three alarm clocks - one old school model from IKEA that actually has bells, a regular little dinger and my loud ass cell phone - which rings at three different intervals.

So while my brain is full of things to write about - truly, all I care about is that tonight...I get to sleep in my own bed. And I'll worry about the rest tomorrow.