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Time for me to become a hermit again. Or as close to a hermit as I can become with kids and a job. (And a Twitter account.) Yes, that’s right–I’ve hit what I call the “itchy stage” of writing projects. It’s where even one’s skin doesn’t fit right, where the work is calling and one resents any intrusion on it. After the itchy phase comes the deep-breath-and-sinking-in phase. If I pay attention to the itchy phase maybe it will be mercifully brief.
I’m also worn out from social visits. All from people I like, but I’m glad the rest of the week is free.
So, my itchy crankiness is achieving toxic proportions. I’ve already thought better of several tweets today. Most of them are me being nervy about things that don’t matter–like reviewers not bothering to read the damn book they’re supposedly “reviewing”. (There, I have allowed myself a single bad-tempered goose. No more. Okay, maybe one more…no, really, Lili, step back. Don’t do it.)
The plum tree has finally bloomed. It’s cool and overcast, and the breeze sends showers of petals floating on the breeze. It’s like being in a movie with elves, all the stuff falling from the sky.
***time passes***
The UPS guy just came. I NOW HAVE MY COPY OF Beyond Heaving Bosoms! There is much rejoicing. So much rejoicing, in fact, that I’m going to treat myself to little sips of it in-between working today.
Look at that, a bad mood gone good. That is the power of a book arriving at one’s doorstop. God bless the modern age.
See you around, dear Reader…
Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.
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