My weekend was absolutely amazing, though it was relatively free of writing. Why was my weekend so great? I went to see Paul McCartney in concert on Sunday with my brother. Though I'm a very reserved person in public, believe me, I was screaming like a little girl on the inside. McCartney/The Beatles mean a great deal to me, and have since I was a little kid, so this was really the opportunity of a lifetime. Absolutely nothing could ruin it. Not even the fact that the only two drunk people in the whole Fieldhouse were sitting in the row ahead of us.
And since I've only attended a handful of top-act concerts in my lifetime (I'm pretty sure this is only the third), it made the night even better. I was even able to forget about money for awhile -- even though the concert did remind me that I had a lot of work available when I bought the ticket two months ago.
Anyway, that's my excuse for slacking off on the novel this weekend. No more distractions will I have... unless "Paperback Writer" starts playing from the speakers. Then I may have to get up and dance.
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