A good, productive week, even if I feel quite wiped out.
Last weekend was our annual writer’s group Christmas Party. Smaller than usual, still fun, and we’re still pigging out on leftovers. However it’s an exhausting day setting up for it, from cleaning to cooking (chili, cornbread, beer bread, fruit compote). Next year we’re going to plan better and do some of the cleaning earlier in the month (stuff can be moved out of the way).
Of course, I had to move my computer up to my office and out of the way. Turns out someone knew the password.
One of my goals for next year is cleaning up my room. Quite aside from my guest (a doll from my mother’s play therapy practice) it’s disorganized enough even I can’t stand it.
Anyway, that left TYG and me wiped out Sunday, though we managed to put the house back into shape. Fortunately I’ve been sleeping well lately — every so often I’ll go through a no-insomnia stretch and this is apparently one of them. As I mentioned last week, waking up “late” throws me off my game but this time I seem to be coping.
I got two stories in for The Local Reporter, one on local first responders winning an award and one on local GoFundMe projects. And I’m feeling more confident I can finish the book. I rewrote about 40 percent of the text, wrote more on the Hulk chapter and put some more thought into the title. The rewriting showed me it’s in better shape than I realized. Yay me.
Very little else got done. I have several tasks I want to complete but I’m confining myself to the absolute necessities right now. I may be writing this weekend — I’ll probably put in at least one day — but it won’t be as exhausting as the party. Not that I mind — we don’t entertain much so it’s nice to have one big event every year.
Plushie had his recheck Monday. The review is mixed: he’s improving, though not as fast as they’d like. Surgery might still be necessary but maybe not. So we continue what we’re doing (exercise, walks, PT) and have another checkup in January. Fingers crossed. He also got his eye exam and despite his glaucoma, his peepers are still holding up. The vet was quite astonished he’s almost sixteen. That pleases us.
And I sold one copy of Sex for Dinner, Death for Breakfast last month. Thank you, unknown buyer, for giving my book a shot.
Bonus photo, here’s Snowdrop under the Christmas tree. So far neither cat has attempted to climb it.
