This morning’s run–six kilometres up what I affectionately call Death Hill–featured no bees, wasps, or spiders. Instead, there was a crane fly in my hair when I slowed down. Miss B looked puzzled but unfazed when I shook the poor critter out, hoping I hadn’t damaged it. B had a fine old time cavorting along and attempting to menace every bicyclist, bus, or large vehicle passing by.
I ended that part of my morning in the shower, getting soap in my nose. Grace and dignity, yo. Then there was a frantic moment or two when I stepped into my shoes. Why is it, I ask you, that I can feel a single bulldog hair under my metatarsals, but I don’t notice my shirt is on backward for an entire day? One of the mysteries of consciousness, I suppose.
In mixed news, Amazon is sold out of The Marked paperbacks, but Barnes & Noble appears to still have them. I’m pleasantly surprised, even if it is a hit to the numbers needed to make the book hit any rankings. That’s the way the game goes, I guess, and since I’m a vocal critic of Amazon and a pretty small fry in publishing, I’m sure there wouldn’t be a huge rush to get the problem sorted. So I’ll just say, there are other options, and thanks to those who apparently bought a limited stock. I am, as always, grateful to my Readers for supporting yet another product of my crazed brain.
It’s a day full of mysteries, like why on earth Odd Trundles will not stop licking a certain patch of carpet and where the hell my empty coffee mug went, as well as how soon a character can enter their apartment after a fire and the many vagaries of the publishing process. I would love to figure out why I’m craving a soda, too. Normally the thought of the chemical taste makes my entire body shudder with disgust, but I must be too hungry for my own good.
So I’m off for lunch, and to solve a few mysteries. Like the next scene in HARMONY, and maybe tooling around a little with the swan short story…
Over and out.