Yeah, I know. I missed it again. I wrote a few words, but not enough yesterday before video game night, thinking, sure, once we finish at a reasonable hour, I’ll have plenty of time to pound out the last thousand words or so for the Goal. Obviously, that didn’t happen. While I wasn’t too tired when we finished around eleven, my fingers and wrists were killing me, and I decided it best to go to sleep. Having an eight o’clock meeting today didn’t help things (even though I went to the meeting and didn’t say a word—I hate meetings like that. I’m like, why am I even here?).

Our gaming session last night was rather fun. Doolies even joined in on our voice chat, which we use to talk during the game. (Doolies and I still had our private phone chat for our adoring whispers and baby talk we don’t want to share with the freaks from Syracuse.) I have only a little more work to finish on what is turning out to be a beautiful, if tired, Friday, and I hope to provide more thinking and writing on my story, especially since I’m wasting all my diary words for the morning excuse. I got halfway to the goal with the excuse, not too bad for a video gamed day.

I have to write quickly to prepare for video game night. I received a mail from Will earlier, and I was afraid to open it. I couldn’t bear to read it if it was a cancellation of our game tonight. It wasn’t. Will felt like torturing us by sending a message with hundreds of “WoW…WoW…” written on one line. Obviously, he has too much time on his hands. Unlike me, who, instead of writing teasing mails, daydreams about the game tonight while I sit in meetings.

The life of the intern isn’t always glorious. I’m waiting in line for coffee (as if I do anything else with my time), and the barista asks one of the cafeteria workers to bring her a stack of pastry holders (you know the type: waxy paper bags where pastries spend their last moments of life). An intern, identified by his bright red shirt with the little white “intern” lettering, waits at the wrong end of the coffee bar, holding his money and the stack of pastry holders. The barista takes the stack from him, tsking her coworker in Spanish. “She just gave them to you?” “Yeah, she said I should pay over here and bring these things while I was on my way.”

The internets distracted me as I prepared to dive into more useless notes about my story. I was threatened yesterday with violence if I don’t turn these notes into some sort of story. I will be the first to apply violence to myself if I don’t write this story. I’m excited about it and the world I plan on creating. It’s just a matter of lighting the fire and seeing what erupts, which is so much easier said than done. But you knew that already, didn’t you?