HUngover

This will no doubt disappoint the director, should he find out, but I don't think I'm up to doing any work today. I've just finally roused myself from a half-conscious morning of nausea, headache, and gastrointestinal distress. Let's face it, it is not because I'm marching in the storied parade of instrospective alcoholic writers, it's because I'm a 31 year-old man who can't hold is booze any longer. Plus I've been back on the No Carb bullshit for a week or so now, and last night's dinner of sausage didn't do much in the way of soaking up my six gin and tonics at a friend's birthday party. This morning my body revolted and forced me to eat a whole box of toaster waffles. They were whole wheat, but then again, I ate all six in the box. With butter and syrup. Only slightly less bad that, say, fried rice for breakfast.

As far as Get Low is concerned, I made a little progress yesterday and I'm hoping that by around 4 or so I'll be able to read through it and make some notes and think hard about all the changes, etc., etc. I can't express how hard it is to get excited about going back in and revisiting all those goddamn hillbillies yet again (especially feeling as I do). The key players are now talking about paying me - possibly out of pocket - to get cracking on the rewrites; it seems as though everyone is convinced that we are shooting a movie in March 2005. They don't want something as pedestrian as "freelance work" to interfere with the schedule. So, conceivably, I could finally get some dough. Also, I could be on a Hollywood movie set in less than six months. Me and Bob Duvall.

I think I need to go to the mall and just walk around in a coma. Yes. Coma. Consume.