Status

Three pages this morning: one before coffee, two in the Lit & Phil.

Weather: sunshine, freezing rain and hail. The latter two, of course, mostly on me as I trudged to and fro. *is wet* *and cold*

My poor Barry's insides have turned to liquid, and he didn't want his breckfuss. So he's on strict water rations for twenty-four hours; this is Route One, go for a hard reboot and see what happens. If he's no better by tomorrow we'll go and see his friends the vets and his idolising fan/worshippers the nurses (Everybody Loves Barry. It's a rule).

Me, I am not on water rations, no. I can has a sammich. Pork-and-apple meatloaf on granary with mayonnaise, mustard and sauerkraut, and a pickle on the side. What am I missing...?

Constitutionally evil

Hmmph. He may not be feeling that bad. I was just cosseting the little invalid under his favourite sun-lamp, which is the halogen light on my desk, when he discovered my new thumb-drive jutting from the USB port on the side of the screen. It is a shiny, and it jingles.

"No, Baz," I said, "that is not a cat toy."

I said this many times, but he refuted it. So here I was with one hand on the back of his neck to dissuade him while the other was saving the work and dismounting the drive so's I could safely remove it - when he did that for me, with a lizard-swift twist of that same stubborn neck. Then he hurled it over the back of the desk with a toss of his head.

He is teh evil, I tell you. I would send him to bed with no supper, but he already knows he's not getting supper, and his bed is my bed in any case. What has he got to lose?

Status (2)

Another two pages this afternoon. It feels like squeezing toothpaste from a dry tube, but, hell, if I only sit here long enough, the words will apparently come. One thing I have, it is the knack of sitting.

Also, something else I have, some things else: I have smoked sausage, courtesy of the continental market (which visits rarely and at unpredictable times, but on good days I walk up through town after my session at the Lit & Phil and there the stalls are, ranged around the Monument; and there my bank is, all willing to give me cash to spend; and so I come home with bread and cheese and sausage and likewise goodnesses), and I have wine courtesy of the supermarket's loss-leader mentality.

And now I have to write another two pages, and that may cost me this entire bottle of wine, which would be Bad. Cheap, but Bad. (I saw a GP friend yesterday, who had been conducting a new do-you-drink-too-much? questionnaire with a patient, and realised in that classic way that he himself was answering "Yes" in all the wrong places. Apparently the fact that I sometimes drink an entire bottle of heavy red wine by myself would schedule me for further investigation instantly...) But, I would have my seven pages.

Forward...

Seven Pages A Day

Pages: seven. Yay.

Words: 2348

115,937 / 125,000 (92.7%)

Battle: Is joined
Fallen City: Is falling. Again
Pirate of the Road: Is piratical
Girl in disguise: Steps out of her disguise
Bewildered Boy: Is bewildered
Other Bewildered Boy: Is also bewildered
Dragon: Is being mysteriously elsewhere. Who can say?

So that's all kinda satisfactory, really. Tomorrow, perhaps, an end to this chapter? If I can find one? (For no: I do not know what is happening. It's a battle. If I had a synopsis, it would say "Battle" at this point. So we are battling. The only things I know, plot-wise, come afterwards. If you asked me right now who won the battle, who had to win it? I would probably shrug.)