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desperanceBizarrely, I want to list getting my plumber to tell me just how bad the situation is, as an achievement for the day. Which makes it an excuse, not to pursue any other avenues. Till Monday, as we are now into official Weekend.
Other achievements: I have smoked a chicken breast and a bowl of salt. And planted out Vietnamese coriander and Mexican tarragon and broad-leaved sorrel.
Can we hear the word "displacement" anywhere out there? Nah, thought not.
Also, at times like these, work itself becomes a displacement. I have all-but finished the revisions: "all-but" because I reached that point where I have to write a whole new scene, maybe two, right before the end. I'll do that/those over the weekend, and send it away on Monday. Not thinking more tonight.
What I am going to do tonight, I came home from the Lit & Phil this morning with two unexpected books. Also with a bundle of short stories that I need to read for a competition, but not tonight. Tonight, I have either a Terry Pratchett I haven't read, or else a Diana Wynne Jones ditto. (You do know about Diana, right? No more chemo, see what happens, doctors pessimistic?)
I think DWJ. I think me, gin, DWJ; and then a bowlful of rice and smoked chicken and smoked garlic and veggies, and then DWJ until closing. That sounds like a plan to me.
Other achievements: I have smoked a chicken breast and a bowl of salt. And planted out Vietnamese coriander and Mexican tarragon and broad-leaved sorrel.
Can we hear the word "displacement" anywhere out there? Nah, thought not.
Also, at times like these, work itself becomes a displacement. I have all-but finished the revisions: "all-but" because I reached that point where I have to write a whole new scene, maybe two, right before the end. I'll do that/those over the weekend, and send it away on Monday. Not thinking more tonight.
What I am going to do tonight, I came home from the Lit & Phil this morning with two unexpected books. Also with a bundle of short stories that I need to read for a competition, but not tonight. Tonight, I have either a Terry Pratchett I haven't read, or else a Diana Wynne Jones ditto. (You do know about Diana, right? No more chemo, see what happens, doctors pessimistic?)
I think DWJ. I think me, gin, DWJ; and then a bowlful of rice and smoked chicken and smoked garlic and veggies, and then DWJ until closing. That sounds like a plan to me.