When inspiration strikes, I clean.

I don't know why, but whenever I go for a night out, I always wake up the next morning with the compulsion to clean everything in the apartment. I suppose it's my way of making mental recompense for what I did the night before. So, this morning, I gutted the contents of my closet, dusted, ran two loads of laundry, and swept the entire apartment. While cleaning, I found a notebook full of ideas for the novel that's been kicking around in my head for the last five years. Most of it's crap, but some of it is actually pretty good. I mean, for me, the litmus test for evaluating anything I've written is "if it doesn't make me cringe while reading it, it's probably not that bad." I'm actually excited about the project again. 'Might even try to flesh it out a little this semester. Well, more "flesh" than six notebook pages, anyway.

And, for the record, can I just say that the unaired Sherlock pilot made my week? I love my smart, funny shows.