The problem with the whole getting up early to write schtick is that I can only give the writing an hour, sometimes a smidgeon more. Which means that, while I definitely get wordcount every day, cutting it off at the one-hour mark means I don't get prodigious counts. I always plan on writing more when I get home in the evening, and some days I do, but most days I'm pretty weary from getting up stupidly early and by the time I've eaten and chored and whatnot, it's time to hit the hay. I suppose I could start skimping on sleep, but then I wouldn't be Deb and you all might start to wonder if the world had gone topsy-turvy.
So I end the day feeling thwarted, as if I could have done so much more than I did. Of course, if I didn't get up early in the morning, I'd be theoretically able to give more than an hour to my writing, but I doubt I'd actually squeeze in that much. So feel free to ignore me as much as I do. I never claimed to be rational, you know.
In happy news, I went for a walk at lunch yesterday. Why oh why have I spent so long sitting in that freezing, boring work kitchen? East of the kitchen, protected by a long bed of trees and shrubs and a rock wall, is a sward. I kid you not, a sward. Private and sunny and everything. (Well, private except for the kookaburras who figured my tomato and cheese sandwich was communal property and kept dive-bombing me to get at it.) There's even a lone tree in the middle of the lawn, turned golden with autumn. It's discoveries like these that make me happy for ridiculously long stretches of time. I sat there in sunlight, bright and glorious1, thinking nothing could be better. But then a cloud covered the sun, dimming everything, and a brisk wind made the leaves shiver and whisper, and how could anything be better than that?
In news that shouldn't surprise me and yet still does, in four weeks I'll be an aunt. I mean, it's not like I haven't had plenty of time to grow accustomed to the idea. Still: surprising.
- For the northern hemispherical types: yes, it's nearly winter over here. No, winter doesn't mean indoors weather. It's summer that's full of storms and rain; winter is brisk but mostly sunny. It is, if you're a cold frog like me, a wondrous time of year. [↩]