Dragging myself out of the muck and mire that is my nightly six hours
of sleep, I realize I’m traipsing nightmare all over the carpet. Nothing too
foul, in fact it’s pretty ordinary crap I’ve got clinging to my extremities, but
the gop and the goo are still there, slowing my stride down to an upright crawl.
*Squish… squish… squish…”
Great. Even my fingers are covered with the syrupy slime of spent bad
dreams this morning. This stuff is hell to get off of a keyboard. *sighs* I know how I’ll be spending a
good chunk of my day.
Frank is not helping, by the way.
My specter of imminent failure is scowling at me with a decided look of
disgust from his end of the couch. (Yes, I have deeded over ownership of the
westernmost cushion and sofa arm to the charmless creep. If he’s going to be living
here, I sure as heck am not paying the taxes on wear he plops his
ever-expanding ass. *lol*)
The specter at my right is not amused… which, of course, amuses me
tremendously. It’s a very Bizarro quid-pro-quo world around here sometimes. (I suggest
never visiting.)
Well, despite the molasses-like gunk I’ve got hanging off of all the
pointy ends of my soul this morning, I do have work to do.
Book Two of “The Lion and the Steed” series needs to be attended to
today. Even if its sibling Writhe is stuck in limbo land it seems, Book
Two needs to get on with its own life. Carve a place of its own in the vast
literary plain. Find its own niche to crawl into and grow.
Once I get this gunk off of my fingers I might even give the little guy
a hand. Wouldn’t that be novel?
*chuckles*
Get it? “Novel”? And I’m writing a novel, so… Oh, never mind. I’ve got
a vat of lye to go jump into.
Until tonight…
Chloe
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