Boy, I'm obsessed.
I was going to send the whole massive kerfluffle to Eric and then enjoy my time without the book on my lap...but I couldn't. I needed a read through first, so Eric is going to have to wait. (Sorry, brother...but I hope it will be worth it...)
But I didn't realize how badly I'd driven myself until I was in the yarn store. The first (and probably last) time in months that I'm in the yarn store sans children. I was there for a class, and a yarn exchange...and it was Saturday morning. Uhm...did you all catch the time stamp on my last blog post?
Yeah. I got there, and my brain leaked out my ears to be replaced by the grand finale of the 1812 Overture played on hacksaws and razor blades. After an attempt to buy yarn (it got tangled on the winder and I had to go back for it today) I made my way home with the help of a second 32 oz of soda, mumbled something to Mate that made no sense at all, and passed out for 3 hours, waking up every so often when Ladybug came in and sat on my head.
Woke up, and got right back on the computer--and obviously not to blog.
I'm starting to see why artists make such lousy parents/spouses/friends because I'm having a hard time focussing on anything but GETTING THIS MANUSCRIPT TO A PLACE WHERE I AM NO LONGER RESPONSIBLE FOR IT.
I, uhm, also want someone to read it and tell me that it's decent. I'd settle for decent. What would really flip my switch is if someone tells me that they cried as much reading it as I did writing it, but I'm not holding my breath--I'm sure part of that was emotional instability cause by sleep deprivation and PMS.
Anyway, Chicken has been gone for five days, and I am starting to get Chicken withdrawals. Her brother went camping with Grandma and Grandpa today, which means the house is now eerily quiet--and I have no one to chase short people while I'm pretending to be a novelist, so I can't promise a whole lot of interaction this week--which is too bad, because I think I could really use the perspective of catching up with you all!!!
Oh yeah--and to celebrate an 800 page (after two days of editing it's up to 797--I think that it will get to 800 pages, don't you?) project, I cast on lace. With beads. Where are the men in the white suits to take you to the booby hatch when you need it? (Galad, that last one was for you, because you have kept me out of the booby hatch all month:-)
Oh--I must ask--is there a retirement home for old Happy Meal toys? Because we've got a crapload that need to go age SOMEWHERE ELSE.
And one more thing--Am I the only one who cries uncontrollably during Wall-E? Or was that hormones? Just curious.
Oh yeah--Which is worse, spiders or flies? Because we let (okay, IIIIIIII let) a shitload of flies in the other day, and the next morning, they were just gone. Because, you know, the spiders ate them. And we started wondering if maybe just buying a Gecko to eat the spiders wouldn't be the ultimate in organic housecleaning, you think?
And that's it--I'm out!!!