Today is one of those days when so many things get thrown at you that instead of buckling — because hey, you need a job — you listen to really old music and try to prioritize, while failing at it miserably.
I spoke to a lot of people, and all I can think of is the intarsia knitting sitting in a cubby in my apartment, my sweet little puppy napping in her crate, and my boy picking up some groceries on the way home. I’m positive that the joy I feel about that entire sentiment will fade with time, but right now, it brightens me, lightens me, and gives me hope for the weekend.
9-5 is only horrible if you don’t have a good book to read on the way (I’m halfway through the Hunger Games after day 2 of reading it). Actually, it’s still pretty horrible, even if you love everyone you work with.
Oh, November. You were a trying sort of month, in that NaNoWriMo hell sort of way. Remember when I wrote that post about how, by now, December 1st, I will have 50,000 awfully positioned words and a fancy online badge made up of a variety of pixels to validate my effort?
Yeah… that didn’t really happen.
Fortunately, this is a failure that I think that I will be able to live with. I have written 17,637 words in one month – more than I have in the entirety of the past year (for pleasure), and that is a huge achievement for me. I’m still hoping to finish this story — wherever it is taking me, since I clearly have no idea — before 2014. Or at least before I go back to work after our university-enforced break on January 6th. I think that having 2 weeks off will provide enough incentive to write like a motherfucker as well as knit like one.
You are a monsoon that everyone sees on the horizon,
And underestimates. “How bad can a little bit of water be?”
The natives are running. My heart is running, burrowing like a hedgehog into my spleen.
My feet stay planted on the ground.