Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Dogs and Cats Living Together!

Usually there's a strict no touching rule in play between the canines and the felines (save for Pete's signature pounce/swat/run), but since Wilson was in a snit from a traumatic trip to the bathtub and Pete was displaced by a laundry-folding operation, they happened to end up in the same quadrant of the bed. I'll use this for blackmail later.

In other news, the spymobile is home early, which is surprising because in order to install a new clutch in a Volkswagen you have to completely dismantle the vehicle into each single component piece, do a ritual dance handed down from the Visigoths, and sacrifice a two-headed chicken before reassembling the car. There must have been a sale on two-headed chickens. Coming back from New Orleans I only got lost once, due in part to my non-existent navigational abilities and due in part to the fact that the footprint of New Orleans was laid out by absinthe-addled pirates. Now the spymobile just has to last four more years to break even on repairs.

I am slacking on my rewriting/proofreading, because I am a terrible person. I should be sent away, preferably to some nice quiet place far, far from screaming children and barking dogs, where I can properly meditate on my shortcomings. Probably won't happen, so tonight I will set up the wall of Coke Zero cans and sharpen my virtual red pencil for the virtual bloodbath.

1 comment:

  1. You're not a terrible person. Yes, you wake up every morning in the inseparable gore of dismembered children and cats. Yes, you have The White Princess gagged and hogtied under your floorboards to prevent her from fixing the world. Yes, the blistering profanity from your lips caused 98% of global warming. But you have this adorable cackle and it makes me forgive you for everything.

    I'm taking a break. I can't do much useful on publishing until Carolyn gets back to me about the cover art, so I've decided to enjoy myself and write a Doll House story to get all writery again.