well, it's 9 am and I've been up for two and a half hours. The paper is half done and progressing nicely (i'm just taking a little mind/breakfast break). I intended to wake up at 8 (a little simple math here will deduce that i really woke up at 6:30...we shall continue the discussion of my awakeness in terms of what I thought at the time), did so, and promptly went back to sleep for another half hour. My bleary nearsighted eyes discerned (word of the day, i've used it about 80 times in my paper so far) that it was 8:35, so I groaned a little and wished I was still asleep, but I kicked my self-motivation sensors into gear and gave my lazy side a stern talking-to. I enjoyed the sounds of the morning for a while (i think the only reason I woke up at that point was the chirping of birds outside the window), which were very soothing with little to no people sounds whatsoever. I felt like I was at summer camp, or someplace similarily remote in which they wake you up at odd hours of the morning. Eventually (about ten minutes later) I got out of bed and showered, came back, and started wrting. I was just about finished with my second page when I looked at the clock. And blinked. I looked at a different clock. It told me the same information. And so did the clock by my bed. My estimation of the hour was somewhere around 9:30 or even ten, but it was not so. It was 7:30. As I said earlier, my limited vision told me it was later that it was...a 6 can easily be construed as an 8 when transferred to my brain by my horrible eyesight. Nevertheless, I'm glad that I did get up, had a chance to enjoy the sounds of the morning (mind you, i wouldn't have enjoyed it so much had i not been alone--it's the same thing as that fateful beach bonfire last summer at which I spent the morning hours (from 6 to 11) camped out by a pit watching the world wake up...the best early morning experience I've ever had and it's completely mine)....and it's not even 9:30 yet. I'll be done before I know it (my break ends at 9:30, hopefully I will be entirely completed by noon).

Ah yes. I was trying to remember what made the Evening of "Pete" pop to my head, and now I do but I guess it's not really necessary anymore. Sometimes I start writing stuff ahead of time mentally, and by the time I've sat down to actually write it, only choice phrases remain, not the whole (which, no doubt, was a work of compositional genius ;). Hehe...I still enjoy the memories of that night immensely. Jason being protective (and me wishing for all the world that things were not as they indeed are..a story within itself)...Jeff the Mountaineer (from whom my waterbottle takes his name) and his giant dolphin sighting (there was also that ponderous conversation, punctuated by hand gestures-- "euphonium?" "bass trombone!")..."I think his name's 'Pete?'"..."he's too dorky to be a Mark"...all this from an evening that at first glance seemed like it was just going to be another party in which I stood in the corner and tried to look like an interesting individual. I know hardly any of this means anything to anyone but Davis...but she'll enjoy it, I'm sure. Basically it's just a chance for me to procrastinate a little more. Any interested parties who want the full story I can promise will be highly amused. It's a good story.

well, i wish i didn't have to get back to paper-writing, but i must. nose to the grindstone, back to work.