The dayjob and the freelance work conspired on me, handing me a 16.5 hour workday which left me sorely in need of movement to unlock all the muscles in my back and neck that had seized up from all that typing. Not to mention sleep. In truly spectacular fashion, I fell into bed at 6:30pm last night. Let me tell you, 12 hours sleep? Is GOOOOOOOOOOOD.
It's only 12 sleeps until I leave now, and the errands are not lessening. I had hoped by getting started early I might have them all out of the way by now but alas, life is wily and cannot be pre-empted so easily. To add to the confusion, one of my colleagues at the dayjob has resigned, leaving us all scrambling to cover her absence, and the cat apparently needs all his teeth pulled. Blerk. Lucky I had that long work day, I suppose — the extra money will take some of the sting out of the vet bill.
It's been days and days and days (ie, I've lost count now) without words, but not for lack of trying: a new novel is demanding all my spare attention, making me stop in random places to jot down notes and questions. It's still a little threadbare in terms of actual plot, however, and after the last revision I'm chary of stories who come knocking without plot, so I'm being stubborn and not starting it without some sort of idea of where it's going.