... coming home from eleven hours at the workhouse to a plate full of hot wings warmed up for you by your loving wife, the wings a gift from Harold, your unbelievably cool next door neighbor. And a frosty mug of beer on the side. Makes working late not quite so bad.

And the crazy thing is, I had the gumption to get back in front of the computer for another hour or two tonight to work on my novel. Nothing new, however. I had to stop and get to know my own novel again -- I sorta lost touch with it over the past week, post-vacation and during the most lingering cold I've had in years.

I'm pleased to report that my book doesn't suck as bad as I'd thought it did! There's hope.

Part of the reason I feel up to staying up 'til eleven tonight is that I can sleep in a bit tomorrow -- I've got the morning off (which is why I had to work late today -- all about those tradeoffs) so I can go to the doc's with Elizabeth and see if we're having a Jasperito or a Jasperita.

Yep, we're finding out what the sex is of our baby. I always thought I'd want to be surprised at the baby's birth, but I really want to know so we can stop calling the baby "it" or "the baby." I wanna know, man. There are only so many neutral colors, you know? Then we can get used to the names we have picked, and try 'em out for a bout 20 weeks...

Holy crap, is that all the time that's left? We're halfway there. Yikes. I got to go paint the baby's room or something. Later.