Now I know I'm broken

[desperance]

My agent phoned an hour ago, to say how much he liked the new book. This is a good thing, and ought to make me happy.

And yet, since then I have spilled cooked rice all over the kitchen floor, shouted at Barry, bitten my tongue (not a metaphor: metaphors don't bleed) and generally find myself absolutely at the ragged edge of functionality.

I am going to give up on the day altogether and retreat to the sofa with a bottle or two of wine, and no ambition beyond making a better fist of tomorrow.

Comments

[szandara.livejournal.com]

My storage space is insufficient to the amount of clothing I own unless some significant portion of it is in the washer/dryer/laundry basket. If it's all clean and put away at once, something might burst.

That has, fortunately, never happened.