3000 words of my short story written, another six or seven hundred to go tomorrow before I revise and futz with it until the thing takes shape and coughs up a draft I feel like handing in on Wednesday. That said, I'm closing up that homework for the evening and critiquing one of the stories for this week's workshop (I'll do the second one tomorrow), then I'll go wash my face and clean myself up a bit. I feel toxic and a bit ugly, but that's just the day after for you.
Gapping out and staring into space is always risky, so I spent some time numbering pages in my new rantbook, the one Michael gave me for our anniversary; a pleasantly obsessive-compulsive activity that wakes up all the ideas for the rantbook that linger in my head. It's one of those ones with a magnetic cover and a pocket in the back for bits and pieces of paper, postcards, two-dimensional miniature universes, all of that.