I'm taking full advantage of the hubster's absence to avoid housework in all of its forms and tippity-tap my wittle fingers off on the novel. It's going well. Never quite as fast 'n furious as I'd like, but...it's going well. The stack of dirty dishes is rising. I'm ignoring it. If it gets bad enough, I might consider some drastic hammer action. 'Course, I can't really afford to buy new dishes, so I think I'll stick with the la-la-la, my-sink-isn't-really-that-full-of-dirty-dishes delusion for now.
I'll be taking a short break this weekend to visit this psycho in the desert. The plan is to chauffeur Bill "lost dog" Cameron around to various bookstores for some drive-by signings. Forecast says highs will be around 100 in hell, er, Phoenix. Yes, I'm planning on bringing plenty o' bottled water along. And I've been promised muchas margaritas Saturday evening.
See, this crazy convection oven heat is one of the reasons why I live in the mountains. It's always 10 to 15 degrees cooler here. And you can breathe the air without choking on thick yellow smog. And it doesn't take 2 hours to drive across town. And the people aren't nearly as rude. And...well, you get the picture. But I'm totally looking forward to spending time with these two reprobates, so I guess it's worth the drive down to hell, er, Phoenix.
Back to my regularly scheduled typing, writing, hair-pulling, iced coffee guzzling, household task ignoring activities.