So, I started writing the story below, and got about here before I realized the story was clichéd and going nowhere and I didn’t want to write a clichéd story that went nowhere with characters that I didn’t care about and a theme I knew nothing about. Of course, that’s all bullshit. I should suck it up and write the bad story and put it out there. It’s a good technique, this writing bad stories. I can learn a lot of I forced myself to do it, but instead I’ll consternate and journalize. There. I said the real reason for not continuing (again). This is filler, of course, on today’s writing quest. I had hopes of writing a story, and look where it left me. I need to tell more.

Once again, fatigue drowns me. Another day of conferences, some great, others terrible, impossible to tell which until after they start. I’m waiting for Randy to eat at P.F. Chang’s, the epitome of homogenized-Chinese-American food. We finished dinner, and I’m at the bucks of stars while Randy goes shopping. Randy wanted me to help her pick out clothing for Eran, who dresses like a slob. I had to tell her that since I can’t stand clothing shopping for me, I certainly wouldn’t shop for someone else. Instead, I’ll sit here and pretend to write.

This morning, as I prepared for my soon-to-be ritual exercises, I found myself at a loss. A few weeks ago, I restarted a routine of jumping jacks (yes, there is still someone in the world who does jumping jacks), crunches, push-ups, and a “core” strengthening exercise of whose name I don’t know (the core is the torso area outside of the abdominals—the exercise places me in push-up position on my hands and elbows, holding that position with my back in a straight and slanted position for a count). To make the count easy, I do the same number of each of the four exercises, and increase my daily count by one every day I perform the routine. (I’ve only missed two days since I restarted.) As I finished my jumping jacks this morning, I couldn’t remember if I was at 28 or 38. It’s rather silly when I look back at this dilemma because I know I’ve been doing these exercises for more than a week, which means it was clearly 38 (since 28, doing my higher math, would be a week and a day into my routine). But my morning-drenched brain couldn’t figure out which one it was. I did 38 j. j. and crunches, since they’re rather easy, but when it came time to do the push-ups, my uncertainty proved my undoing. When I arrived at 28 and fatigue hit me, I decided I shouldn’t chance it and stop there. I think I knew I was cheating even then because I held the core exercise for a 38 count. I’m on the lookout to buy some sort of calendar-esque counter, where I can advance it one every day. Maybe I’ll buy one of those counters they used to use to count people getting onto an amusement park ride—you know what I’m talking about: a plastic counter with a big button that the attendants would push and advance the mechanical counter. I’ll take a looksy and see if I can find if anyone still makes it. Sure, I could probably get one cheap on eBay, but I’m afraid of those newfangled electronic commerce sites.

That was a good use of words. I’m about halfway through this entry, and I’m thinking it’s almost time for me to get back to a story. I’m not sure I can return to what I started earlier in the day. Yes, this certainly is a problem. I don’t know why returning to stories is so painful for me. I don’t mind returning to edit them—although, if the story isn’t fully baked or I want to make major changes (like the flying toe stomp), then I find it harder to get back into it. Words are coming out much easier after only two days of writing. Imagine if I had kept up this 2k writing (TTW, 2KW—I’ll still need work on the acronym) for the last six months. Oh well. Lessons learned.

Speaking of lessons, I thought about trying the new sleep-reduction trial yesterday by setting the alarm to 5am, but chickened out at the last moment and set my alarm to 7am. I woke at around 6am and pretended to sleep until 7am. I’m thinking of compromising tomorrow morning and setting the alarm for 6am. Speaking of alarm clocks, I wanted to explain my current alarm clock situation (and, yes, this paragraph, similar to this parenthetical, is a feeble attempt to pad my word count). After living with the same red LED radio/alarm clock since graduate school, I upgraded my clock to a large numbered version. Doolies had one and I thought it was an excellent idea. With my nearsightedness, I could make out the large numbers with a slight squint instead of fumbling for my glasses or rolling all the way over in bed (depending on the position I end up falling asleep in, thanks to my “imagined” sleep apnea) to read the small numbers. I found the new alarm clock at Target (I don’t shop there often, but for reasons I don’t want to examine, I’m a bit ashamed to admit that I ever shopped there). The large numbers were great, and it worked exactly as I had planned. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was the horrific alarm that the clock sounded. When the alarm went off the first morning, I was horrified. It sounded like what I imagine a lawnmower running over a duck would sound like. I decided that morning never to use the alarm clock as an alarm clock again. I relegated it to big-numbered clock; it will never have a chance to fulfill its real purpose. I don’t feel bad for it, however. Just think of all the ducks I’m saving. Instead of the big-numbered alarm clock, I’ve used the built in alarm clock in my phone to wake me up. It took me a while to find the alarm clock function on the phone that is smarter than me. Since it was a first-generational product (the phone that is smarter than me, that is), the alarm clock functionality was buried with the time-setting functionality, and required me to click around eight times to turn the alarm clock on or off. This has an added benefit: because the process of setting the alarm clock ahead for more sleep is so difficult, I end up waking instead of fumbling with it. The downside, however, is that waking up before the alarm is annoying, since I have to decide whether to turn it off, or get out of the shower to the alarm ringing endlessly. I did briefly use my fancy sleep-watch as an alarm clock, but after Doolies’s warnings, and the alarm functionality breaking (it might not be broken—the reason it didn’t work the last two nights I tried it might be user error), I decided to return to my trusty cell phone alarm. It’s still a bit painful to listen to early in the morning, but it’s nowhere near as annoying as the big-numbered alarm clock and it works.

Okay, I don’t have a clue what that last paragraph relates to or why I told you about alarm clocks. What I will tell you is that this paragraph saved me 453 words of storytelling. How about them apples? I might spend the last 500 words or so going back and seeing if there’s any possible way I can save the vignette I started earlier. I doubt it, but I figured it’d be worth trying instead of having to think up another useless story to tell.

I went back and I thought about writing the story, but I decided it wasn’t going to happen today. Instead, I’m finishing off the last 250 words by writing about how I’m not going to write a story and instead write nothings to finish my entry for today. I’m still holding to my promise of writing a story before Monday. (It’s easy to hold to promises that might—I mean will—happen in the future.)

This brings me to my customary paragraph describing my progress. I know once I get into this 2k storytelling (2KST? TTST?—I’m still in need of a good name for returning to this style), I’ll stop counting these asides and word counts, similar to what I did during Nano. See? I didn’t want to admit it at the time (actually, I did admit, but admitting that I admitted it would not make as good an introduction or explanation), but I learned much about bullshi…I mean writing during the Nano contest. As I was saying, my word count for today is 1,889 as of now. Caffeine intake: tall mocha, 3/4 pot of dragon oolong tea from P. F. Chang’s. Writing time: variable. Editing time: almost nonexistent.

I’m the last person in the bucks of stars seating area. It’s past 8pm, and it’s almost time to find Randy and head on back to the Castle. When I arrived here, I fought off fatigue with the tea. It (the fatigue) has snuck back up to me. I didn’t realize it was here until it tapped me on the shoulder. Stupid fatigue. I have around thirty more words to call in a two-thousand-word day (TTWD?). It’s been fun again. I’ll see you tomorrow! Word count: 2,001 (combining story and musing).