My cheerfulness is a bit strained this Monday. You know, the usual things–weekend that didn’t feel like a weekend, heavy and slow while running, a teenager not wanting to go to school and hinting heavily that she didn’t, a bulldog puppy Eating Things He Shouldn’t, not enough caffeine in the world, beating my head against an old manuscript to make it reasonable for the agent to take a look at, getting nervy about the Ripper book…yeah. Strained a bit, that’s me.
And that package of peanut-butter cups in the kitchen is calling my name. A thready little whisper. Liiiiili, you know we’ll make you feeeeeeel better. Because theobormides are loooooooooooove…
I have another thirty pages of revisions to get through before I can go and make T. Rex noises while I messily devour those whispering little bastards. I don’t know if I’ll make it.
So down I go, into the valley of It’s A Terrible Blow To The Ego To Find Out This Book Is Worse Than You Ever Thought. *sigh* Maybe I should take up freelance editing. It’s bound to be easier on the nerves than this.
Really I’m just bitching. There are days, even when one has the best job in the world, when it just does not seem worth it. It’s usually a sign that one needs to buckle down and just do some of the stinking work.
Oh, and I planted bulbs this past weekend. Daffodils, lilies, crocuses. Which basically just means I laid out a buffet table for a certain squirrel who thinks he’s Napoleon. Which reminds me, I should tell you guys about Squirrel!Napoleon and the Almost-Escape. It involves the cat, Odd Trundles, and an apple way too big (or so it seemed) for a squirrel’s mouth.
But for right now…back to revisions. *straps on helmet* Sheesh.