This morning I did something I haven’t done in many months: I slept a little late. I’ve done that on weekends, sure, and on my days working from home — sleep a couple extra hours and get to work earlier than every other day? heck yes! — but not on a regular work day. Of course, it just meant that I missed my first train into the city, had to stand all the way to Manhattan on the next one (which was very over-crowded), had to take the subway out of Penn Station (which is less straightforward than the subway from Hunterspoint), and arrived at work a little after 9 instead of a little before 8:30 (which meant I worked until 5 instead of 4:30). That’s it.
This afternoon, at work, we had one of our semi-regular “brown bag lunches,” this one by a literary agent. It was okay, and he represents some really interesting authors — Michael Lewis, Ken Follett, Stephen Hawking — but the talk was a little too unstructured to be exceptionally interesting. (In academic publishing, we don’t work with agents very often. The money’s just not good enough.) Still, there was free pizza after.
That was…what’s today, Wednesday?
