Crises

Spend very productive (early) morning working on mystery. (Procrastination very minimal: Manage to play only two games of computer chess (lose both) and while thinking hard about next plot turn, draw passable elevation of apartment building. Drawing breaks down when try to place Dave and Jenny in front of building--both end up looking alarmingly like pigs--the Dave pig, naturally, on hind legs.) Because of writing, leave for work feeling full of virtue. On subway, virtue morphs into fantasy based on book being optioned by movie studio. Find scrap of paper in pocket and make note to self to ask the Contessa who all she knows in film. (While writing, train lurches and know with certain knowledge that combination of messy handwriting and abbreviations will render note--Ask Contessa abt Contacts--meaningless.) Still have spring in step when walk into lobby. Good mood eroded by Libby, who says with sadistic twinkle in eye I Heard there is a Conflict with the Space. Think she is talking about Physics and am, though baffled, very curious. Curiosity turns quickly to dread. Enter office where Vice-Boss curls menecingly over the Contessa's desk. Says, I want you to call up the room scheduler and ask him who he as double booked us with. Do you understand? Is V.BG. had said similar to me, would have snapped back, I'm not quite sure I get it, could you repeat? (Actually, would do nothing of the sort. Would, instead triumphantly think up line in middle of the night.) Crisis progresses. Though nobody dies, the Vice-Boss's behavior throughout indicates otherwise.