everybody talks about the weather – Page 7

this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

Tuesday. ‘nother hot one, so say the weatherbeans. The AQI isn’t perilous, but it’s not pleasant, either.

Second good night of sleep in a row. I could get used to this, though I’m still a bit groggy, which I suppose indicates that the sleep debt has not yet been paid off.

Breakfast was a bialy with the last of the cream cheese and grapes. Second cup of tea to hand. Lunch — who knows. I have frozen dinners, or I could DoorDash — can’t skip, though. The late adventures have dropped me to slightly below my preferred lower weight limit of 160, so — no cheating.

My Big Plans for the day are!

1 Get the trash and recycling to the curb
2 Dispatch one’s duty to the cats
3 Call for a haircut
4 Work on the WIP

There’s needlework, which I missed last week. I’d really like to go this evening. I suppose I’ll see what the day has made of itself, after lunch before I make a decision.

All that said! What are your plans for the day?

Today’s blog post title brought to you by ee cummings, [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

Firefly and Rookie planning last night’s entertainment:

One of these mornings, you’re gonna rise up singing…

What went before ONE: Aaaand home.

Spent hours in Michael’s. Which counts as a treat. Did not need to go to Target, because I found it in Staples. Toured Best Buy briefly to research tablets, because I think I’m going to buy a new tablet, though God She knows I have enough technology in this house to choke a camel.

First though! Now that Trooper, who met me at the door demanding to know WHERE HIS FOOD WAS, has been satisfied and is cleaning up, I’ve gotta find something to eat.

It is hot, and the air is thick, so I am glad to be back on Station Air.

What went before TWO: I am suddenly and for no reason bitterly tired.

So! Needlework was fun; we had a full house tonight, several new people, and some folks we hadn’t seen for a while. I had been going to take my shirt to embroider, but, with one thing and page proofs, I didn’t have time to make the transfer, so I grabbed my fox sampler and my traveling kit (the fox sampler may be five years old. I would bring it with me to cons, and work it on when we were on the train. At this remove, I’m not sure what I had in mind for the fox himself, who is maybe half-finished, so I just worked on some leaves this evening.

The cats have had Happy Hour, and I have poured myself a glass of wine. Tomorrow, there will be reading of page proofs.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Wednesday. Sunny and? Going to be warm. What a surprise. We are on Station Air.

Breakfast was a bialy and cream cheese, with a side a grapes. Lunch will be a veggie burger with cheese.

I slept a whopping 7 hours and 55 minutes, and I actually do not feel like something the cat drug in (as we said in the Land of My Birth, where “drug” was the past participle of “drag”. “Flang,” however was not the past participle of “flung.” You had to go further south for that.).

The rosebush not only continues to survive, but there it’s blooming its silly head off.

Today, there will be Reading, of (1) a contract and (2) page proofs. If anyone wants me, I’ll be back in Steve’s office.

What’s on your schedule today?

Today’s blog post title from “Summertime,” from Porgy and Bess. The original from the opera is, IMHO, insupportable, but then I don’t tend to much like opera. Here we have Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, which is Much More The Thing.

Rosebush, doing its thing:

My beacon’s been moved under moon and star

What went before ONE: All righty, then! Duty to the cats accomplished; walk walked; vacuuming and mopping done; grapes and cheese had for second breakfast; realized that every word I wrote yesterday is unnecessary, sigh, though the exercise did demonstrate what was necessary. Next up is my lunch, which will be a frozen box, because that’s exactly how ambitious I’m feeling.

I did not put my latest embroidery into my book — won’t fit for one thing. Instead, I sewed it to the hoop and hung it in the bedroom, where I’ll be able to see the Ribbons every day.

People want to know where I got the pattern, answering being “From a friend who was reducing her stash by increasing mine.” But! If you search of “Tales from the Hoop” you will find the Etsy shop from which it was purchased.

Trooper nagged me for food throughout all of the above, and I did serve him, but he’s not actually eating food today, just ordering it.

The weatherbeans that it’s 82F outside and the AQI is 154. We are, yes, on Station Air.

This has been your mid-day check-in.

What went before TWO: I have no idea how many new words I wrote today. Somewhere north of 1,390, but since I had to frog a scene — like I said: no idea.

The WIP entire now weighs in at +/-64,540.

In Other News, the page proofs for the anniversary edition of I Dare (first published by Meisha Merlin in February 2002) have landed and need to be back to the publisher by August 12. It’s printing out even as I type this.

Word production on the WIP may slow somewhat. Also? Reading I Dare at this juncture is going to be Interesting in several ways.

I Dare of course was the seventh book of the seven book series Steve and I had initially intended to write, and is also the book that introduces Theo Waitley.

Good thing I bought ahead on Irish Breakfast Tea.

We have entered the Time-Space Continuum known as Coon Cat Happy Hour, so I’ll be getting up to serve in a minute.

Trooper has begged for food constantly today, and rejects all but bisque. He has eaten three envelopes of bisque, so that’s at least something. I am . . . not quite very worried. Not quite.

And on that note — everybody stay safe.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

What went before THREE: Oh, Skydance’s conditions-of-sale guarantees actually helps me make sense of the farewell monologue from the host of After Midnight, in which she says she had honestly expected that the network would replace the host, not shut down the show. But the show’s executive producer was Stephen Colbert, and the host was a female stand-up comic about whom I know nothing, but that is, honestly, Just Me. She seemed very genuine in her opening remarks, including the thanks to her team and her guests and educating the audience in exactly how much work goes into putting on a show every. single. day. She remarked several times that people had said she was the only person who could have pulled this show off, and that, no, there were many many talented people who could have done it, some of whom she had been certain would be tapped for her replacement. (To be clear: she had decided, after two years, to leave TV and go back to her True Calling, doing live Stand Up, so she tendered her resignation, believing she would be replaced as host.)

It’s an interesting commentary. You can find it on Youtube.

But, Skydance! Skydance, as part of the conditions of sale has sworn to root out those in the former Paramount/CBS organization who are female, disabled, mean or sarcastic to little men with no souls, and abolish wokeness in all its flavors.

And, yanno, that’s not scary at all.

Is it?

Sunday. Sunny, breezy, and not warm yet. My office windows are open for the cats, but I expect I’ll have to go to Station Air mid-morning. We still stand, or, yanno, sit, beneath an Active Air Quality Alert. Apparently a Dark Plume of Particulates is extending itself over the region. Huzzah.

I slept for 7 hours and 44 minutes, it says here. Trooper did not smack me in the face, once. I attribute this miracle to sleeping with the covers pulled over my head, which was made possible by the cpap machine. Finally I find a good side to the damned device.

I’ve been kinda mooching around since I got up, doing the Sunday Slow Rise. It’s been . . . different. Different is good, I’m told.

Breakfast was homemade whole wheat toast, cottage cheese, and grapes. Lunch will be I Have No Idea. I will say that my experiment of meatballs and red sauce over bread the other day proved that this concept, um, needs work. Sadly, I have meatballs and red sauce left over — and absolutely no motivation to eat it.

As mentioned last night, the page proofs for the “anniversary” edition of I DARE (tradepaper, it says here, and I’ve written for confirmation that this is so), have landed. That’s 433 pages and 16 days, which means I need to Absolutely Read 27 pages a day. I’ll try for 50, because that will give me wiggle room, in case the sky falls and I can’t read one day.

Because my office is in Middle of Book Chaos, I’ll be setting the proofreading project up in Steve’s office, which ought to confuse the cats, so that’s worth doing.

So, recapping — Today’s to-do includes one’s duty to the cats, finding something to eat for lunch, proofing 50 pages of I Dare, and, should there be time and brain power, writing new words.

How’s your Sunday treating you?

Today’s blog post title courtesy of Golden Earring, “Twilight Zone.”

For rosebush fans, proof of life:

Peace and particulates

What went before ONE: So, I think this is done. I’ll wait a bit and see if I’m Called to do the rest of the dots in French knots. The instructions say “not necessary.”

EDITED TO ADD: Someone in comments said that the stars that are not graced with a French knot are further away, and that is brilliant, especially since I had been thinking maybe I should do the smaller stars with one strand, to give the field depth. And here the field already has depth. Duh.

What went before TWO: 500ish new words today, bringing the WIP to +/-63,250. Words really seem to pile up faster once you crack 50,000, don’t they?

I am not feeling as well as I would like. I’m thinking overtired, here, so The Plan is to eat my dinner, and hit the bed. If I can’t sleep late, maybe I can sleep early.

Trooper ate the tiny can of gooshy CD that I picked up at the vet’s today, when I went in to pick up his meds (he’s been eating the dry CD forever). I do know better than to buy a case of the stuff, because the next time I offer it, he’ll turn his nose up, but I might want to go out tomorrow and pick up another can or two.

No snippet today, I’m afraid. Maybe tomorrow.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

What went before THREE: The Long Back Yard is very peaceful this morning.

Saturday. Sunny and cool so far, but They Say it will get warmer, later, and! We’re under a Severe Weather Alert due to bad air quality, the villain being particulates. I guess I’ll go on to Station Air in a bit. Right now, the windows in my office are open, and each one has a cat on the sill, observing the day.

I used my Audible credit to buy Devil’s Cub, and went to bed early to listen, and eventually fall asleep. I don’t care as much for this (male) narrator, who seems to think that all women must sound hysterical, which is fine for Fanny, but not at all a good look for Leonie. Still, I did fall asleep, and slept the night through. I woke up at 6, but not because Trooper was smacking me in the face. So that’s already a better day.

Had my first cup of tea on the deck; the second is with me here at the desk. Breakfast, so far, was a slice of cinnamon-raisin toast with cream cheese. I have no idea what I’m eating for lunch, or for the rest of breakfast, actually. Sigh. Who is the Goddess of Food? We need to have a chat.

On today’s to-do is one’s duty to the cats, naturally; signing my ribbon dance embroidery and putting it in the embroidery book; taking an inside walk (ref Bad Air Day); and writing.

I still feel a little … off. I’ll take a page from Steve’s book and blame the air. Given the AQI is 157, that seems to be a reasonable scapegoat.

Firefly has determined which drawer in my office chest of drawers holds the Cat Dancer, and was just trying to open it. I guess I have My Orders.

How’s everybody doing today?

Pic of Rook and Tali, who really have buddied up, snuggling and squabbling like true siblings.

But you and I, we’ve been through that

Begin as you mean to go on…

SNIPPET ONE:
The red was beyond excellent. Jen Sin closed his eyes, the better to savor it, and heard Val Con speak.

“I see you’re refining Theo’s taste. But, the jade, Brother? Surely you might have taught her to drink something a bit less dear.”

“It’s not quite so dear,” answered the rich voice of his cousin Shan, “when you have a connection, and a discount. And the jade suits her.”

What went before: So, that’s 1,121 new words written today in two shifts, bringing the WIP entire to +/-56,880 words.

Had a good chat with my friends at Holy Cannoli, where I can attest that the pumpkin chocolate chip cookies are still delicious.

I thought it was going to rain, and it did drizzle a little, but I had been promised a thunderstorm, to usher in a cooler tomorrow, and I’d still kinda like that, please.

Coon Cat Happy Hour has been served up and consumed, and I’m about to pour myself a glass of wine and go see if I’m still annoyed with Dr. Who, or if I can finish watching the episode I bailed on — a week ago? Two? Whatever.

I have an early appointment with the chiropractor tomorrow, and then I’m pretty much Free until Tuesday.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Friday. Sunny and cooler. Windows OPEN. Station air is convenient, but I really prefer ambient conditions.

Woke up earlier than I had planned. Turns out that all four cats were low on snuggles, so we did that for a while before I got up and found, yanno, clothes.

The rosebush has survived another night; no sign of digging activity, though it did rain a little last night, so I’ll have to re-up the hot pepper.

Breakfast was a peach cut up into cottage cheese with tea. More tea to hand, and probably more tea after that. I’ll probably make salmon cakes for lunch; which is, among other things, guaranteed leftovers.

My phone updated itself last night, always an exciting time. The best new toy is a button that will allegedly identify music playing nearby. I used it successfully twice, but now it’s not working, or maybe Google doesn’t recognize Bon Jovi’s “Lay Your Hands on Me,” which I would say the chances of that are…low.

Anyhoots — it’s still early, so I guess I’d better do some of the chores I was going to do later, so I have more time to work, later.

I do have a doctor’s appointment at 10, and a short stop at the grocery after, but that’s all I’ve got to write about.

I can share another SNIPPET, for those who may be interested. Shan and Val Con are in rare form, I fear:

“However, if Val Con wishes to come the disapproving banker – “

Val Con raised his hands. “Acquit me! The red is everything that is wonderful, Master Trader, and I will prove my word by shortly having another glass. I thank you for your generosity on behalf of us all.”

Shan eyed him. “I sense an upcoming bid for my cook.”

“That,” Val Con returned primly, “is not for me to decide.”

“I believe you enjoy saying that,” Shan said.

“I believe I do, too,” Val Con answered, cordially.

And that said! What’s everybody doing today?

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Mr. Jimi Hendrix, “All Along the Watchtower”

Cat tax Rookie and Firefly being coy, each in their own manner

In which the wine is damned good

What went before: That was a quick 1000-ish words. I must be on the right track. The WIP entire now tips the word meter at! +/-55,075.

I’m done for the day. Tomorrow’s treats include the arrival of Ideal Electric, to subject the generator to its annual inspection, and, in the evening, needleworking at the library. We will also be looking for temperatures in excess of 90F/32C, which is never fun.

And on that note — everybody stay safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.

SNIPPET:
“The wine is well-chosen,” she murmured in Liaden, then slanted a look up into speculative silver eyes, and added, “Damn, that’s good.”

“That the refreshment pleases you must gratify me,” Shan answered politely. He sipped, sighed, and murmured, “Ain’t it, though?”

Tuesday. Sunny, already warm, and aimed for hot, the first of three. Curtains are closed, station air is on; trash and recycling are at the curb.

Breakfast was roast beef and Swiss on whole grain bread with a side of cherries. Lunch will be, err, something.

Trooper is currently in the bathroom, eating his second snack on the day; my second cup of tea is to hand.

I woke up just before 7, but did not start the day with jets hot. There was, for instance, Tali to be stroked and murmured to, as she’s decided that a little morning spoil before arising is good for her complexion, then Rookie got shut in the bedroom closet — I swear to GHU I’m puttin’ a bell on that cat — Firefly made a Formal Solicitation to be brushed, Trooper had to have his first snack, and so on.

Looking at the to-do list, I may not get any writing done today, though if things go faster than expected, I may be able to grab an hour.

I called a critter removal service yesterday, but haven’t heard back yet. I’ll give them today, then move on to Number Two on the list.

And that’s it — another day in the exciting, drama-filled life of a working writer.

What’s your day looking like?

Flashback to yesterday afternoon: All paws wanted to inspect my new haircut:

Thunderstormin’

So, I had a good day. I can tell you right now that I’m not going to break 50,000 words this weekend. After sorting through my notes and writing a couple of short scenes, the WIP stands at +/-45,140 words. Tomorrow, I believe, will be a day like unto this one.

Outside my windows, the weather was cool and rainy, and briefly thunderstormy. Tomorrow, we’ll see temps start to climb again, settling in for the rest of the week around the mid-80sF, and giving the Fourth of July Celebrants a lovely, warm, sunny weekend.

I should say that lunch was so-called “Greek chicken and lemon soup” from the co-op, and it was Good, along with a salad, and a third of the mini-brie (also from the co-op), and bread. I have enough left over for tomorrow’s lunch, too, should I wish to go in that direction.

Coon Cat Happy Hour is coming right up, after which I do believe I’ll pour myself a glass of wine and watch an episode of Dr. Who.

For those interested, it looks like the cross-posting of my daily rambles is, if not a hit, then at least enjoyable to the majority, so I’ll continue doing that for as long as FB makes it easy for me.

For fun during a break, I looked at houses for sale in Northport/Belfast/Lincolnville, which also got me Isleboro, because Geography. Hah, I say. And again, I say — HAH.

So! What did y’all do today?

Glass Menagerie

What went before: Rook made sure I had eaten a good, nutritious breakfast before I left on the day’s work:

Tuesday afternoon. Sunny and hot. So. Very. Hot.

I have had Adventures.

Firstly, on my way to Belfast, I had a right of way dispute with a turkey. In true turkey style, he burst from the weeds and charged into the road, I swerved, he swerved, I swore, the turkey went up over the windshield. I heard scrabbling on the roof, looked in the mirror, fearing, as one does, the worst — but there was no dead turkey behind me.

I pulled over and got out.

No dead turkey on the front grill (yes, I know I saw him go over the windshield; I looked anyway). No dead turkey on the back bumper. No dead turkey on the roof. I sighted back down the road. No turkeys of any description to be seen.

The best I can figure is that he rolled onto the roof of the car, got his feet under him, spread his wings — and flew away.

Sheesh, Turkey. Give a girl a heart attack, why not?

Despite the turkey, I was early in the environs of Belfast, so I stopped at the public boat landing. The breeze was blowing, and it was already warm, but I thought to myself, thought I, “Well. This won’t be so bad, if the breeze keeps up.”

SPOILER: The breeze did not keep up. By the time I returned with my party to the boat landing for lunch at Nautilus, the weather was certifiably unpleasant.

In between those two visits to the boat landing, I met my brother- and sister-in-law, my grandnephew, and his friend at Mainely Gallery, and we made glass. The first project was a puffin. I fear mine has Character. Which is *fine*. What wasn’t fine was that, while I was getting ready to grip my very hot glass critter with the tweezers in anticipation of freeing him from the glass rod from which he had been formed — my hand slipped and I burned my finger.

PRO TIP: Do not put your finger into live flame. It hurts.

The upside of this misadventure is that I am now a member of a new club: Glassworkers who have burned themselves while working.

Cold water was deployed, as was aloe and lidocaine. And bandaids. I took the bandaids off when I got home, and I don’t think the surgeons will have to take the finger (that’s what passes for humor).

Despite this mishap, there was enough time remaining in our session to make a second object. My sister- and brother-in-law, working as a team, made another puffin, to keep the first one company. My grandnephew had a Plan, but his glass popped — which was impressive. He declared himself satisfied and stood as assistant to his friend, who made a very pretty glass flower. I made!

A marble.

Don’t laugh; it’s a lot harder than you might think to make a marble, especially when you’re using the soft glass, which starts melting almost before you bring it to the flame.

I very much look forward to picking up my puffin and my marble on Thursday afternoon.

Lunch at Nautilus was as usual good and plentiful, catching up happened, and we parted for our two separate portions of Maine around 2.

I’m now home, Trooper is on my lap, purring, and being an impediment to typing. My burned finger has been inspected by Firefly and by Rook, both of whom were obviously saying, “Well, SOMEbody was stoopid.”

I do believe I’ll be getting a dish of ice cream.

I don’t believe that I’ll be going out to embroidery tonight. Burned finger, you know.

What’s everybody been doing today?

Summer, it turns me upside down

What went before: So, I wrote some new words today, which was Such a Relief, after feeling like I’ve been mired in quicksand for the last two weeks. The WIP entire now stands at +/-42,700.

I wasted some time this afternoon on a panic attack when I realized (as I do from time to time) that I’m going to be old and broke, and sick and alone, and I don’t have anything worthwhile to $ell, and &c &c.

I mean, Steve and I knew we were living a grasshopper existence, which is, take note, a much more amusing pose when you’re young and strong. And, really, I thought that the end part would be too quick to be scary — summer one day, snowstorm the next, quick-frozen grasshopper, so sad.

Well.

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with the chiropractor, mid-morning, and the rest of the day to work.

Tali and Rook are at the moment having a game of tag. I need to water the roses, and — I do believe I’ll have a glass, or two, of wine.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Monday. Sunny and already hot.

Breakfast was the last of the lettuce, the last of the tomato, the last of the cottage cheese, and a piece of toast. Lunch will be the leftover pork chop and beans.

I detect a theme.

Leaving in a few to see the chiropractor. I’ll hit the post office and the grocery before I come home.

We here in Central Maine are still Awaiting tomorrow’s arrival of Extreme Heat. The excursion to the hot shop in Belfast is being reconsidered, with the hope that we can move it to another, somewhat cooler, day later in the week.

The following is for those who wonder how writers make money, sparked by a mention in comments regarding a “living wage.”

It ought to surprise no one to learn that writers make money by writing. How much money they make and if they receive what they are owed are variables, the discussion of which is outside of the purview of this paper.

The other thing to remember is that there is a long and impecunious apprentice period for most writers (cue joke: Q: Oh! You’re a writer? Have you sold anything? A: Well, so far, I’ve sold my sewing machine, my kayak, and my car.). Most of us have day-jobs, though (I speak for myself) not the demanding sorts of day-jobs that may come with retirement benefits, because those sorts of jobs impinge on one’s writing time. Even those of us who “make it,” for some definition thereof, do so later in life, and if we don’t necessarily have college loans to pay off, we have other debt incurred while we learned our craft.

So!

The greater percentage of writers make LESS — even FAR LESS — than a “living wage” from their writing.

Those who do make a “living wage” are equal parts lucky and too stubborn to die — Lee-and-Miller stand in this category as an example, and perhaps a warning.

Very few achieve Literary Superstar, which is of course the standard to which all writers are held because societies that measure success in terms of money have no soul.

To continue.

Irregardless of the variables mentioned above, when writers stop writing, they stop getting paid. This is a calamity, because, even those of us who managed to achieve that “living wage” do not typically have Large Sums of Money invested against sickness or old age. They may have a few months’ living expenses squirreled away. Maybe.

Now, yes, some of us — Lee-and-Miller are twice fortunate — have significant extra fan support in the style of Patreon, Ko-fi, and so on. Those things, like all donation systems — such as the local food bank, or Meals-on-Wheels — depend on the economic health of the donor pool. When the economy tanks, people very wisely cut their donations, in the interest of feeding themselves and their families.

Speaking, again, for myself: I have three books under contract — again, and that’s three times fortunate — and even should stop writing after I turn in the last, cash should continue to flow, in lessening rivulets, for a couple years. And I can of course continue to write and publish independently. Assuming that I keep my health and my head.

Anyhow! This has gotten long, and I need to get on the road.

How’s everybody doing today?

Some time later: Back from errands, which also included putting gas in the car. I couldn’t figure out why I needed gas, then I remembered that I’d driven back and forth to Bath last Monday.

It’s shaping up to be a nasty ol’ day out there. The City of Waterville has hit the citizen phone tree to remind us that the Cooling Center on Front Street will be open tomorrow from 10 to 6.

I bought a strawberry shortcake cup at the grocery store and ate it before lunch, in true grasshopper fashion. I tried to share my whipped cream with the overlords — Rookie was enthusiastic, Firefly was curious, Tali thought I was Up To Something, and Trooper had just finished his chicken smoothie and was too full for dessert.

I will be updating the blog, performing my duty to the cats, and then seeing about lunch before sitting down with the WIP.

Today’s blog post title brought to you by The Cars, “Magic”

Oh. I was late getting into work today, and Supervisor Firefly noticed.

High on the hillside, the trucks are loading

What went before: Taking a small break.

Rook and Tali assisted me in a nap; I take them so seldom that it was felt I needed spotters. I believe I acquitted myself well, though I declined an immediate review.

I’m still working and will be working a while longer. I want to hit a Certain Point this evening, so that I can hit another Certain Point tomorrow.

Tomorrow is, by the way, predicted to be warmer than today, and Monday warmer than that, peaking with really dangerous (for Maine values of dangerous) heat on Tuesday, then easing back to something approaching normal on Thursday.

Coon cat happy hour in about an hour. In the meantime, as I said, still working here — oh. And I need to water the roses.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Sunday. Glowering and damp. Heading for warm and damp.

Breakfast was hummus, naan, cherries. I’ll think of something for lunch.

BEGIN FB-specific Well. I seem to have created a stampede yesterday. You all do realize that if we already share FB friendship that you have already passed through my vetting process, yes? And that the people I was talking to specifically are those who send me a new request for friendship, but have their page locked down so tight, I have nothing to vet.

Which in one way, makes my job very easy, but apparently makes me look churlish and aloof to those I reject.

Yes, yes. First world problems.

END FB-specific

Speaking of which, I see we’re at war. I suppose that makes sense: war’s good for the economy, after all; and it’s a convenient way to get rid of all those excess and annoying non-millionaires — draft ’em and let ’em get blown up. And there’s also that pesky question of elections and the wartime powers of presidents.

Man, I hate this timeline.

deep breath

I’m getting ready to go bury my head in a manuscript.

What’s everybody else doing?

Today’s blog post brought to you by Talking Heads, “Life During Wartime”

Tali and Rook working on their technique: