I dropped the Princess off at school this morning. “We should just shoot Mondays,” I said, staring at the demolition-derby that is the middle-school parking lot in the morning.
“Then,” she replied gravely, “everyone would just hate Tuesdays. And Tuesday doesn’t deserve that.”
I love that kid.
I had a good weekend. It involved wine, cooking for various people, and a Sunday sleepily spent watching people play video games, then eating chocolate almond clusters and toddling to bed early. I even remembered to set my clocks forward (well, “remembered” might be too strong a word; “my writing partner reminded me eight times” might be more like it) and found out that I’m out of batteries for my Wall o’Cat Clox. Which reminds me, I have to look for another one–there’s a bare spot on aforementioned wall.
So, yeah. My Monday is gray, I’m scattered and head-stuffed with an approaching cold (my children love me and like to give me things) and I have no idea what Bannon has planned next in The Red Plague Affair. Guess I’m just going to have to write and see.
*yawn* I’m on that. But first, some cat clocks…