Don't. push. me. 'cause...

I've taken to setting up my computer on one of the ECG tables (like a massage table with no hole for your face) in the "procedure room," which is the big main area where most everything study-related happens. All in all, I think there are more quiet hours here than anywhere else, though, as always, anyone can come in at any time and start playing loud funk music or having a marathon screaming match on the cell phone with her teenage child.

I haven't been writing much the last three days. Just distracted and ready to go home, I think. But I have been having great ideas for my screenplay just as I fall asleep at night. I value that even more than the time spent writing, because when I have one or two of those on my pad, I have something to get my pen moving when I sit down. I know I have something to write.

I was trying to read this afternoon, but I couldn't block out the conversations in the room, so I shuffled off to the TV room to see what folks were watching. They were just sitting down to watch The Guardian, so I stayed. It was long and, well, stupid. But I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do more, so I sat through it. I was hoping for more wet t-shirt shots of the Coast Guard boys. Can't we at least have that?

Now I'm back at my ECG table/desk. And there's a guy 10 feet away from me practicing harmonica. He has a little device that plays the tune, and then he has to play it. Beginner tunes, like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I want to feel supportive because he's learning to play the harmonica and anyone who wants to learn to play the harmonica should be encouraged. But it's about to drive me insane.