But the kitchen floor is swept and the rugs washed. Every time I put down fresh rugs Buster puts a footlong skidmark on the one closest to the fridge, and I hate looking at them. Clean your bum, duDE!
Word count is now 33260 but I feel like I’m gonna be Penelope on everything I’ve written the last three days so I’m not going to count em up until later.
I want to lie in the sun for a week; I feel like contentment is purring next door and I can’t leave the house (not literally true – went for a walk yesterday with Paul which was very pleasant and yes mOm he got the family history books.) Not hearing back from the job interview doesn’t lift my mood. Every time I go for an interview I’m knocked off course for a while as I panic and think I’ll never finish this novel if I get a job and start thinking very very Marvin-ish thoughts.
So PM me if you want me to keep writing. I’m a little shrivelled at the moment.
