Novel Stats:
| Words Today | 0 |
| Words Total | 98,500 |
Short Story Stats:
| Written | 2 |
| Submitted | 2 |
| In Circulation | 1 |
| Rejected | 0 |
| Sold | 1 |
Sunday,
March 26, 2005
Writing on a Sunday
As you know (Bob), I spent most of my day off yesterday sleeping, unfortunately (must look for neti pot today -- wonder if World Market would carry them), but woke up around 4:00 AM this morning to a most impressive thunderstorm, with what sounded like seriously chunky hail. Got out of bed long enough to close the window in the living room, then crawled back in and found both cats had had the same idea. Oh, well -- it's like a purring quilt, really.
Spent the morning writing, and I'm now taking a lunch break. I'm going to keep it up until 2:00 PM or so, then I may either head out and do some food shopping or maybe do a bit of antiquing, depending on the weather (it's still rainy and cold). Then, I need to come back here and clean -- Lyndon vacuumed and sorted out a great deal of stuff yesterday, so now it's my turn to do laundry and clean the bathrooms.
Oh, and kitty grass. I must remember to pick up some more kitty grass. Anything to keep the fabulous furbags from eating my plants.
On writing, though -- is it just me, or does anyone else sometimes have problems getting into the flow of writing because when you do, it's like blacking out? When I really get going, I can look up and realize five hours have gone by without my even noticing it. For me, that's scary -- I don't like losing track of time like that, even though it's when I'm at my most productive. And yes, I know this sounds psycho, but it bugs me when it happens.
Okay, I'll shut up and go back to writing now.
Ear infections suck donkey dingle
That's it -- I'm calling the doc on Monday and having him look at me. I'm peachy if I'm flat on my ever-widening ass (and gosh, there's just ever so much I can do from that position, as long as I don't turn onto the Bad Side, which causes the left side of my skull to feel like Bozo the Clown is using my middle ear to make balloon animals, or disturb a cat who thinks of any prone human as his very own Body Pillow). But if I have the cojones to sit up -- whoa, when the hell did I do five tequila slammers, anyway? And who punched me in my left sinus? Did I get into another fight after the slammers?
I need answers, people. Or antibiotics. What I have until Monday is various sinus-draining meds (which don't do dick because my sinuses aren't stuffed up, but I keep popping them because I am my mother's daughter and Ena the Queena took Dristan like it was crack) and a tin of Quality Street that I found at World Market and brought home for Lyndon. So far I've gobbled (counts wrappers on end table) seven pieces, and I don't care. I will exercise when doing so doesn't make me throw up from vertigo.
Lyndon, of course, is being the perfect husband through all this -- unasked, he fetches food and drink for me, makes sure my sinus meds are within lunging distance, and rubs my sinuses. And yes, I know they're in my skull, but it feels better when he rubs my sinuses. And he took his laptop into the bedroom to check mail and talk with his homies because I'm in the Comfy Chair in the living room and he didn't want to make me move. Of course, we would have two Comfy Chairs in the living room if I could partially disassemble the futon in my office and haul it back in here, but I must possess a pair of working inner ears to do that, if only because I need to clear off the piles of crap currently on said futon and if I bend over right now I suspect I will lose the seven pieces of Quality Street plus anything else I ate today. Which would probably prove a boon to my ever-widening ass, but I really hate the idea of throwing up if I can at all avoid it.
On the upside, I wrote about 2500 words. Don't have a freaking clue if any of it is useable, but at least it's on the screen