I get to run today, which will be a gift. There’s all sorts of swirling through my interior spaces, and physical motion will calm it down. I think I’m on the verge of submerging to finish a book or two, which will be a relief. I have the itch to actually type “finis” at the end of something again.
Of course, it could be that I just recently have reacquired the energy and focus to juggle my usual three-projects-at-once. Hell’s Acre is gathering steam, though I’m pretty sure now the entire thing will be a whole 200k chunk instead of broken into two smaller seasons as was the original plan. Plus there’s the second Sons of Ymre, gaining speed right before the first one releases. I think it’ll only be a two-book series, despite my editor’s protestations. (She wants more, especially a Robert romance. You’ll meet him in Erik.) The third project is just-for-me, sooper-sekrit, and delights me right down to the hollows of my soul.
So it’s rather busy around here, and since I actually left the house on Tuesday to take care of things I’ve been meaning to get done (and haven’t been able to) for three years of pandemic, I have a bit of energy freed up from that. I’m at the stage of actively resenting anything pulling me away from writing now. I just want to be left alone to chortle over my keyboard, fueled only by caffeine and my indomitable will.
I had an appointment yesterday so there was no Tea with Lili. I might do a catch-up today if I have time, and if I have a cuppa around the proper hour. Goodness knows I have enough subject matter.
The chainsaws earlier in the week gave way to stump-grinding yesterday. Miss B was so irate she drowned out said stump-grinder, but thankfully the entire ruckus was short-lived. She is becoming rather cranky in her senescence, but heaven knows she’s earned it. She was also furious at being bathed on Tuesday, while Boxnoggin hid under my desk hoping he wasn’t next. Spoiler: He wasn’t, his skin is rather delicate and cannot handle more than a bath every other month.
Which just made Miss B even more irritable, though she was mollified by a treat. Especially since Boxnoggin, who presented himself in a mad scramble, did not get an after-bath treat. He had to sit, shake hands, lie down, and roll over to earn his, and then Miss B got a second treat for watching the whole thing because of course she demands parity of her particular sort.
The dogs absolutely have my number, and I don’t mind.
I am however out of patience with rather a lot of things, including some current “discourse.” Climbing into a hole made of work and the production of my sweary little demotivational graphics seems ever so enticing.
At the moment, the coffee is almost done, I solved today’s Wordle at the last moment (I thought it was impossible for me to hate the New York Times more, but never, I guess, underestimate one’s powers in that regard), and the dogs are waiting eagerly for toast-crust and walkies.
No wonder the beasts rarely eat their breakfasts. They’re too busy chewing on bits of mine. Alas and alack, I am a fool for sad canine stares–though this isn’t a bad thing, I think. Rather seems a mark of character, instead.
All right, Thursday. We’re not going to hurt each other, are we?