Rough Morning

Overslept, so didn’t get a start on my writing work. Still tired, though, deep in sleep debt. Thank you, insomnia. Achy from the manual labor over the past couple of days (taking down bushes along the side of the house, cutting up branches to put in trash cans, restacking four-foot stone wall). Getting fat so I have difficulty fitting in to last year’s shorts.

House a constant mess. Patch getting in to everything, including Mom’s make-up. The littlest one covered herself in it, and the flesh-colored powder is all over the bedroom floor. All over. Rushing to get last-minute homework and project assignments done for the Little One. No food in the house. Ugh.

I do have about a week’s worth of blog posts on backorder here at the Hopper. I do. I have two book reviews: A Case of Conscience and a mini-review of the Murakami book. Two far-out physics meditations that might lead me to Nirvana. A short story about a burned-out superhero. A little piece on the scariest story I ever did read.

But not today. If I allowed myself to drink, I’d have about three Spaatens out on the deck. But I don’t, and it looks like rain, anyway. So I’m going to read one of my trashy pulpy SF paperbacks, Tarnsman of Gor, while the big one’s at kindergarten and the small one’s napping. Then, it’s back to the one-step forward, one-step back existence in the afternoon and evening. I’m planning on cooking a fish, by the way.

See you tomorrow with something a little more substantial.