It's... I don't know... is it mid-day yet? It always seems to be dark when I move from A to B. From Pete's office to my house in this case. I stand in front of my door and fumble for my keys. Shit, when has my handbag become Shelob's Lair? Geez - there seems to be almost everything in it, except for - of course! - those damn keys! It takes me longer to find them than it took Aragorn to find Gollum - but finally I manage to unlock my door and let myself inside.
I drop my bag and key right next to the door and I stagger into the living room where I place the bunch of script pages on the couch table. Thank god there's cooled wine in my fride! I'm too tired to make myself something to eat but I'm too exhausted to go to bed straight away. So I crash down on my sofa and light a cigarette. I pour myself a glass of wine and take a deep swallow.
I'm drained. Really.
Off-time for others (not that they get much of it, mind you!) means re-writes for Pete, Fran and moi...
We had to do quite a couple of re-writes during the last two days! Viggo's accident demanded some quick (are there others?) changes of schedule. And it didn't exactly help matters that Pete kept beating himself up for agreeing on letting Viggo do that stunt himself. The good news is: Viggo is feeling better. To think that he could have... No, I won't even go there.
I wonder how he's doing. Concussion. Water in his lungs. Hypothermia. Not good. But he has Orlando who, I'm sure, will take good care of him. And I've heard Sean and David went to check on him as well. Hm. Good.
My mind keeps going in circles. I pick up the newspaper and I swear it wouldn't be any harder to read if it was written in Tengwar. Or Runes. All I see is black birds' feet on paper.
It would be great to go out again, to the Parrot maybe. Maybe tomorrow. Not today. No, I'll just have another glass of wine and then I'll go to bed. To sleep. To sleep... perchance to dream?