Update:
As of 11:59 p.m. on 11/05 I have 5,432 words.

Morale:
Good - I'm ahead of last year, and I'm not running low on material.

But my big triumph of the evening was resisting a very tempting invitation to see Alien at Cinerama. Why does all the good stuff happen in November, dammit?

Excerpt of the Day:

This is the third date. We are still exchanging personal history trading cards. So far he’s given up Few People Really Get Me, Right Now I’m Working at Dad’s Firm But I Still Keep a Studio, and I Wouldn’t Call My Mother Domineering, Exactly. I’m already beginning to lose interest in collecting them all.

I put Working Class Background on the table next to my previous offering (Bookish Fat Kid); he hands me Hardships Associated with Having Wealthy Parents. I try to be empathetic, but after a while I just don't have the imagination for it and channel my flagging energy into trying to appear empathetic.

"It’s like a constant struggle to feel independent. I mean, I even took student loans for school, so my parents would have less influence over my major."

This, at last, piques my interest, and I suppress the urge to ask the question that comes naturally to anyone indentured to Sallie Mae.

He notices my interest, and turns coy. "Come on, I know you want to know. Ask me."

"It’s awfully personal, don’t you think?"

"Tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine."

It's an intriguing proposition, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that much intimacy with a man I’ve just decided not to have sex with.