Nothing puts the shine on your week like starting it off at half bloody five on the Monday morning. Shower, shave (no time for anything else) and off to the airport. Bastard. Managed some editing in the lounge waiting for the flight, but no actual writing. Which is a shame as this weekend has only produced a squidge over 2,000 words. Lazy, lazy, lazy shite.
Didn’t help that both Saturday and Sunday morning were taken up with ‘items of a domestic nature’, and looking after cat – who now has a big strip shaved into her fuzzy flanks. But mostly it was pooping about doing house stuff. Arse. Not happy at all with the number of words being produced at the moment. The words themselves seem OK, at least to my unpractised eye, but there just aren’t enough of the bloody things.
However, I’m on my part time thing from Wednesday onwards (a whole twelve days at home to write in) and should be able to get a hell of a lot more done. I’d love to say that I was going to get the bloody thing finished, but seeing how well I’ve done on the old goal-achievement front this last couple of months: I’m not holding my breath.