Temp X woke up this morning without an assignment from his Pimp. Sometimes that moment of employment uncertainty is brief. Sometimes it lasts a little longer. And sometimes (like today) it lasts all day.
So what does an unemployed college graduate with years of work experience and desire to write professionally do when it's 75 and sunny? Just what you'd expect...
5:50 a.m. -- Temp X's dog (Dog X) wakes him up as he does every day at this time. [Notable exception: The day after Daylight Savings Time ends, when he wakes Temp X up an hour earlier.]
5:50:01 a.m. -- Temp X instructs Dog X to go back to sleep. After a combination of coercion and good, old-fashion denial, it works.
6:45 a.m. -- Dog X wakes up again. In a blur, Temp X gets out of bed, feeds Dog X, goes to the john, takes Dog X to the john and wonders how Indiana Jones 4 made any money this weekend.
7:01 a.m. -- Temp X turns on the Today Show in time to watch Tim Russert speak political gibberish about pledged delegates, super delegates and flame-resistant delegates. The gist is that Hillary Clinton is screwed.
7:05 a.m. -- Meredith Viera nods politely (having understood nothing) and throws it over to Al Roker who is live at Uni Studios discussing the fire. Roker tells us nothing new.
8:00 a.m. -- Temp X stares at the phone. His Pimp still has not called. Unless things change, it's gonna be UTO (Uninteded Time Off).
9:16 a.m. -- Temp X gives up on the prospect of a gig today. Shower? Nap? Regis & Kelly? Ok, shower. Guilt sucks.
9:30 a.m. -- Temp X screws around with the official Facebook page. It looks pretty much the same afterwards.
Noon -- Temp X goes to his favorite donut shop to work on his cutting edge-break-the-mold-but-still-appeals-to-mass-audience-and-I-can- change-it-if-you-want-to-buy-it pilot. [Note to agents: I've already got a couple other ones done. Lemme know if you want to see them.] He orders an apple fritter and a decaf with lots of sugar.
3 p.m. - Sugar rush turns into sugar crash and Temp X goes home and takes a nap.
4:30 p.m. -- Temp X awakens to find drool on his pillow (his own) and no calls about work tomorrow. He struggles to come up with an idea for the blog.
5:14 p.m. -- Temp X farts.
5:14:04 p.m. -- Temp X turns on the fan.
5:15 p.m. -- Temp X checks email. He finds out a script called "Mr. Break Up" is circulating. The logline: "It's about a guy who helps people break up." [Insert your own joke here. It's really easy.]
5:59 p.m. -- Temp X wonders why his Pimp hasn't called him all day. Has he found someone new? Am I getting too old? Too fat? Where's my Xanax?
6:00 p.m. -- Quittin' time. Temp X is not sure what he's actually quitting, but whatever it is, it's time.
And you thought your day was fun.