Wordcount, Monday 7th

 

8725 / 95000 words. 9.2% done!

I was hoping to hit the 10% today, but things happened. The LHP developed a tic in its A-key, my tooth fell out, stuff like that. Y'know.

Still. Forging forth. And I scribbled some revisions for the first chapter of House of Bells, also. And made a chilli. I do like having someone to cook for.

Degrees of separation

This is silly. I ought to be working; I need to be working. Instead I am sitting here feeling all lossy.

Nothing is certain, but preliminary reports on my house suggest that keeping it/doing it up/renting it out will be expensive and impractical, and far the better idea would be to sell it. Indeed, that may well be the only option.

It's always been a possibility, so this is really nothing new. It's just suddenly become much more real, and - well, I like my house. It's the only house I've ever owned, which is probably the root cause of the problem; I'm not good at getting rid of stuff, and this is big stuff, and my own. Even if I have been poor at taking care of it.

So, yeah. Sitting here waiting for the plumber, and feeling kinda gloomy and a little fretful. It'll pass. It would pass sooner if I could go for a walk in the sunshine, but plumber. I did just clean the cooker, but as it turns out, that is poor consolation. Who knew?

Grrr

Plumber said he'd come between 11 and 12. It's 12.05, and of course he hasn't shown. He's a plumber. (There is only one plumber on the planet who turns up when he says he will, and he's in Newcastle.)

I guess I'll wait till one. If he's not here by then, I'm going out. I've wasted the whole bloody morning as it is.

Still waiting

I had a nearly-incomprehensible message about the plumber, which might have said that he'd be coming later. I am having to wait, then, just in case.

I am ... not happy. I don't do it well, this waiting-in. I should be able to use the time productively - I mean, y'know, all my work is contained within this selfsame machine, and much of it is done at this selfsame kitchen table, so why not now? - but no. I'm writing one novel and revising another, proofing one for someone else and reading the latest by a favourite author, and I can't settle to any of these. There's quite a lot of pacing going on, and staring out of windows. I swept the kitchen floor, and cleaned the cooker again. I would go out in the garden, only I'm afraid I'd miss another incomprehensible message. The price of plumbing is eternal watchfulness, apparently.