I very much doubt I'm going to make the thousand word mark today as Sam's kitten, Orphan Annie, aka Tiny Tortiseshell Terror aka Tara, is intent upon dumping all my papers on the floor, washing my face, walking on my keyboard, wanting drinks of water, wanting to be fed, put in the litter box, and just generally getting in the middle of every thought I'm trying to type.
Remember the children's story "If you Give a Mouse a Cookie"? It's a lot like that.
At this rate, today's work is going to look a lot like this (excerpted from chapt two as is):
They'd come in separate cars and +++++++++++++Warren needed to finish two reports so Sevin left before him. Foot on the gas, windows down, she listened to Meatloaf as loud as her Coup's little CD player would crank $$$$$$$$ it as she drove home to wait for him.
It had been over a year since Sophie's murder and exactl y a year since Sevin had agreed that loving Warren was a very good thing and that %%%%%%% she
should do more of it.
But the two events sometimes collided head on; one
moment of joy was often followed by another full of grief, like some yin and yang scale with darkness on one side and light on the other. She knew she'd earned the right to be happy and that Sophie would have cheered her on, but the fact that @@@@ Sophie wasn't there to say it made it difficult to live in the moments that were.
Yes, she managed to stand on the caps lock and keys at the same time. Talented little thing. Last night she hit the redial on the telephone and called my mother.
This is what I get for feeling sorry for her boy and offering to do night duty so he can sleep. Maybe she'll get sleepy for more than ten seconds tonight.
Being the sainted descendent of Francis of Assisi isn't all it's cracked up to be.