* I have converted another knitter to the fold. “I seem to be an addict,” she told me on Twitter. And her husband chimed in asking if there was a cure.
I told this to Mate, and he started laughing. Only a little hysterically, why do you ask?
“You need to tell Martin to start building shelves and set aside the money right now, because he’s doomed.”
* I was playing the “Ask questions” Simon Says with the kids in the pool today.
“Simon says, ‘Run in place and tell me what your least favorite chore is… Zoomboy!'”
To which Zoomboy responded, “Anything that starts with ‘What the hell is that smell!'”
And Squish nodded. “That thing he said–I don’t like that one either.”
* Last night, I was getting to bed around 2:30, and as I climbed into bed, I heard Steve bitching, “Let me in! I didn’t mean it! I really want to be in!”
So I get up to let her in, and then realize she’s out of food, and then I feed the dogs and then there’s water, and by the time I got back into bed it was 2:45 and I was a little energized from feeding and watering everybody at dark-fuckin’-thirty.
So I figured I’d lay there and think about my story for a minute, ponder the next move, what will I write about tomorrow.
I sort of forgot… I’m writing urban fantasy at the moment. There’s ghosts. Lots and lots of ghosts.
I started sleep plotting for a minute, and then I remembered the ghosts, and then I heard every crick and every breath in the damned house and then it was 3 a.m. and I was like THIS:
(((0.0)))
Damned writer’s imagination.
And it doesn’t look like it’ll be much more fun tonight.
Whee!
This is why people watch porn to get to bed. Unless it’s zombie porn and shit is falling off, it is all the good things, and there’s always a happy ending.
