I took my children to the park yesterday so they could, as my blind great grandmother used to say, "Blow the stink off," and also so I could get away from the computer for a while and think. I took my gay little notebook with me so I could write down all my gay little thoughts. Yes, it's possible to stop two children from dying on the monkeybars while having a completely unrelated idea playing out in your own head. I have learned this by necessity. Main character, take a hint.
There was a couple there with a two-year-old girl, and the man was clearly not her father. Among other clues, she and her mother were calling him "Jim." Jim was carrying on like nobody's business -- climbing trees, playing hide-and-seek, in general being that awesome guy that really cares about the child that's not his, really tries to be a good simulation of an actual father, cavorts and gambols and capers to please that cute little girl. The mother was a tall drink of water in a tight hippie cardigan and skinny jeans. Buckle boots. You know what I mean. Not entirely sleazy but standing right across the street from it.
So, I am there thinking about my miserable train wreck nightmare horrorshow of a novel, and these people are tittering and clapping and distracting me, and the only thought in my head is that that disingenuous asstard is making so nice with that kid just because he wants to get into the pants of that grinning mother. And then I think, "WHAT KIND OF MONSTER AM I?" Maybe he's just trying hard, maybe he really likes the kid, maybe he is perfectly excellent person with not a plotting thought in his virtuous mind.
I realized I am still a hateful cynic. In spite of all the ways I have tried to revise my view of the world to reflect the fact that I've brought two children here to live in it and it better not be as bad as I think it is, I still think it is bad. As much as I try to locate all of my negative thoughts about people in Dan's brain, thereby making him the misanthrope and me the good person, it is still me assuming the worst and judging, judging, judging.
In the spirit of this new/old cynicism, I will now predict that I will not finish Nanowrimo this year. Last year I finished, the year before I finished, but this year I will not finish. I am already chokingly behind. What's to be done? I'm at 5000 words. I may as well give up now and just play Civilization IV like I want to. Because you know that guy was just trying to land himself a date. You know he was.