Doing my best to deal with myriad frustrations that have been plaguing me for weeks now. Compared to some of the tribulations I’ve read about here, they’re hardly anything to cry about, and yet I still feel most days like I’m dying the death of a thousand cuts.

They’ve been working on our windows here in my building on Crack Alley since it seems like before the place was built. Invariably, they have to scrape, bang, fiddle with, and bang some more on my toddler son’s windows exactly when it’s time for his nap. So... he doesn’t nap, which means I don’t get any work done. Usually, not such a big deal, but I’m in the middle of a workshop of my play An American Book of the Dead - The Game Show and I’m desperately trying to come up with a new second act, having scrapped the earlier one. (Which reminds me: at some point I need to nuke scenes from it that I noded here, since the play is no longer current.) I can’t really say why I’m writing this daylog at this very moment instead of working on my play, except that I have no genuine inspiration to speak of.

In September, I’m gonna have to find a job, since my wife and I have decided that day care is the best thing for our little boy, not to mention our meager finances. Part of me will be relieved not to look after him 24/7, but a much larger part is already broken-hearted in anticipation of missing him so badly.

While I finally got my final payment on the musical I co-wrote, I’m still waiting on the commission check to write another science play, offered to me back in January. If there’s anything more frustrating than trying to squeeze a little money out of the arts establishment, it’s trying to squeeze a little money out of the arts establishment during a depression. Sometimes I think I should just let this commission die the death of a rag doll, but until I get an actual job, money’s money. Even the crappy amount of money they pay to write a play these days.

Still waiting to hear back from Hollywood re: the TV pilot I wrote. The agent that encouraged me to take this plunge has been all but useless in coming up with ways to pitch it to the powers that be, so I’ve decided to end run him and put the script in the hands of a prominent TV actor that I know through mutual friends. If he takes an interest, in might just be viable. If not, it’s probably dead in the water. So I’m waiting to hear back: the story of a script writer’s life.

Again with no convincing excuses for my procrastination, I’ve been avidly reading anything and everything noded here by Doyle. I heartily recommend it. Some of the brightest, most open and honest, most incisive stuff I’ve read anywhere, let alone here. By itself, his writing may redeem the reams of crap found here, though certainly there are other talented noders. What I like about Doyle is that he makes it personal. Most of his nodes are full of factuals, but he understands that noding for the ages means adding something of yourself, not just regurgitating information that can be found elsewhere.