I will open up my computer and a document will be open on the screen – the script I am reading from now. The document will be titled BAC 2 the Future. I will look at the script. I will feel warm sitting in bed with the computer, like a child who is home sick from school. I will begin rereading. I will not be able to stop thinking about all of the other scripts, just like this one, that I have already written. I will notice the places where I re-used particularly well written sentences. I will be very aware of the fact that I could just leave it as is. I will think of how I will also wake up at BAC on Saturday, I will think of how Friday’s audience will not know if I rewrote or not. I will think, this is a stupid idea for a show. I will go up to “file”, scroll down to “Save As” and Click, and then I will elegantly swing the arrow up to the box that will pop up and I will click the scroll that reads “BAC 2 the Future” – adding the word Friday. I will feel like I don’t know if I can do this. I will wonder why I am doing this. I will think about how I once showed promise as a writer, and I will wonder if this project is my attempt to kill that promise once and all, to really burn myself out on a project that never ends that nobody will read that the audience may even at times find boring. I will press “Save”. I will look at this script, which is now an old script and needs to be made new. I will begin deleting. I will delete the first line. I will continue reading. I will see that many of the details really should be left the same. I will remember that on Friday night I know a baby is coming and I will think, the only way to fend off its disruptive gurgling is to pre-empt its disruptive gurgling. I will write, “the gurgling baby who had obediently gurgled all through the show will now begin crying, but it will seem somehow appropriate.” I will worry that this sentence is both too long and too obvious. I will feel hungry.