I got up at six this morning and did not reset the alarm and go back to sleep. After months of making excuses and talking about it and doing research and reading and putting it off, I started writing my comic book. It's about a rock band who gets kidnapped and marooned in another galaxy. Before I had to leave for work, I plotted two pages (the prologue), and I am totally stoked. I was pissed that I had to leave it. Stephen King talks about how his job is basically to play pretend for eight hours a day, and I now I know what he's talking about.