In which the last thing I need is the next thing I'm about to get.
I need to be alone. Invitation only, and I'm stingy with my stationery. Quiet. Peaceful. Time to think. Time to write.
I'm about to get a house full of people that are more socially awkward than I am - at least I make forward progress, people - and have no indoor voice.
And Mickie seems to know when I'm in this kind of mood and likes to poke at it, because she finds something clever and repeats it about five times in five minutes, which decreases the cleverness exponentially.
And OU is playing like a JV team now. Better than when I first tuned in (geezus pleezus, a Safety?!?); in fact, they're fixing to score as I type this (unless they fuck up, which is wholly possible). Still. Never a good day when my Sooners have a bad game.
And we're still broke as a joke until Monday.
Okay, that's off my chest. I'm about to crank up the radio (unless OU continues to play piss-poor, in which case it's Pandora) and close the bedroom door and tell Andy to slip a slice of pizza under the door when it comes (not really, because ew carpet fibers) and write until I go well past the 10,000 word mark. Maybe 12,000. I have ideas that involve a Guitar Hero knockoff and donkey basketball. No, not at the same time. Perhaps you shouldn't ask.
I'm about to get a house full of people that are more socially awkward than I am - at least I make forward progress, people - and have no indoor voice.
And Mickie seems to know when I'm in this kind of mood and likes to poke at it, because she finds something clever and repeats it about five times in five minutes, which decreases the cleverness exponentially.
And OU is playing like a JV team now. Better than when I first tuned in (geezus pleezus, a Safety?!?); in fact, they're fixing to score as I type this (unless they fuck up, which is wholly possible). Still. Never a good day when my Sooners have a bad game.
And we're still broke as a joke until Monday.
Okay, that's off my chest. I'm about to crank up the radio (unless OU continues to play piss-poor, in which case it's Pandora) and close the bedroom door and tell Andy to slip a slice of pizza under the door when it comes (not really, because ew carpet fibers) and write until I go well past the 10,000 word mark. Maybe 12,000. I have ideas that involve a Guitar Hero knockoff and donkey basketball. No, not at the same time. Perhaps you shouldn't ask.