After what he'd done late last night, it would have been impossible for Cal to have gotten any sleep. He went through the motions: brushed his hair, brushed his teeth, changed into comfortable pajama pants...door is closed, but knockable, as post is very open to anyone who might want to stop by, for roommate complaints, for the eventual cancer that will come and live in Cal's chest, you know, whatev. ]]

The productiveness of Cal's day stretched fairly far and wide and, after going through a few cigarettes to think about it with the perspective that he wasn't the only guy in this place with their written...I couldn't get any writing done with your music so loud. I finished it. The last part. I'm sorry. --C.H.S. " [[ establishy! Unless you've really got a reason to run into him at this hour ]]

After a bit of organizing that was mostly just fidgeting and wasting time, Cal finally decided, loosing the tie that he had worn specifically for this cause, to sit down at his desk, in front of his Underwood...fiction, entirely different. So far, it involved a war and a lot of blood. It wasn't very good. Homer, he wasn't, that was for sure. Well, not yet, anyway. [[ door and post are both very open! ]]

....there's a war!" Then I told her I had cramps and that I'd be right over. With that final dancing of fingers on the keys of his Underwood, Cal let out a long, heavy sigh, collapsing under the weight...fingers in distracted thought on the stack of papers, shook his head, and went back to binding them. [[ door and post are open, although I don't have much longer before crashing, so sp would be love ]]

With his sleep schedule still feeling like it had been blown all the way to left field by staying up all night, Cal, careful to remain quiet and working by minimal light so that he didn't disturb his roommate...at the ceiling, knowing that sleep would elude him for a good while now. [[ Establishy, as I'm going to bed soon, although if you don't mind waiting until tomorrow for pings, by all means... ]]

Sing, O Muse, on an utter and complete lack of foresight. He'd spent the morning feeling quite good about his planning that landed all of his workshops at the end of the week, but Cal was now discovering...of Shakespeare. bhn jg jgbhngbhn y gbvhn. ...Nope. Cal sighed again. [[ yeah, door, post, they're open, come on in. This is me making a good, productive time of my day off! *thumbs up!* ]]

There was no workout this morning for Cal. Not a physical one for his body, at any rate, as he woke up, showered, and then went to the common room to find the biggest mug he could and fill it with half... She was the type of girl I'd never talk to because she would never talk to me... Write what you know. The truth was stranger than fiction. [[ door and post are both very muchly ooooopen! ]]

Completely unaware of any interesting, bizarre, or potentially frightening things going on outside the dorms, Cal had settled in front of his typewriter on his desk, reached out his hands, interlocked...you spend six hours in a mind-numbing hospital and have an eight hour opening shift to look forward to the next day. That said, post is like door: OPEN, although I may be a tad on the slowish side ]]

Cal had told Jaina that he wanted to write, but he didn't know what. Yesterday changed all of that. Sing, O Muse, of the catch of inspiration, clinging to the edge of thought and distress like the...next paper, quickly, to not lose his steam. Tomorrow, he'd read through them again. Tomorrow, he'd probably burn every single page. But for now, tonight, he wrote. [[ door and post are open! ]]

Closing his eyes for a moment, Cal took in a deep breath. He stood at the center of the new-old room; he didn't know whether or not this really helped with anything, helped him grow more attached or comfortable...out. He set it beside the typewriter, face down, on the desk, and reached for another sheet, threading it through, and began to type something else entirely. [[ door and post are very open! ]]