Everlasting Syllabub

Need to get back to the story that I am 12,000 words in on.  I am quite aware that I have a story hanging out there in the ether, dangling and waiting for its pretty ribbon.  It’s my goal for this weekend, to get it back and as close as I possibly can get it to being finished with a plan for finishing if I don’t.  It would make me feel really deeply good if I could just call it done, no matter the quality it ends up being.  It’ll be a finished story and that would be remarkable to me.

So…confession time.  I skipped writers group tonight. Begged off because I was feeling really weird today.  Even my co-workers commented on how red and irritated my face was and my eyes stung and I felt the sort of sharp, zappy pain that in my ear and my gums that must indicate something except it went away.  I just felt, bleh,  And if we hadn’t had our orienteering misfortune later, I probably could have had the time to get there and gathered my shit together and went.  But right now, getting ready for bed, I’m rather pleased that it worked out the way it did.  I certainly did not cancel so as to be in receipt of a certain bit of correspondence pledged me.  But having never missed one ever, I felt alright about it.  Fairly sure no one else showed up and I didn’t miss anything anyway.  Huzzah.

And instead of going home and then traipsing out, we instead drove all over the big city looking for something for work that was ostensibly 17 minutes away.  Between my failing to add in the S. in to the GPS and then traffic being a total bitch, we couldn’t get there in time to make the necessary pickup.  And I feel like a jackass about that, but it is, as they say, what it is.

So after all of that, we sort of treated ourselves to a chicken extravaganza.  I ordered a medium, and I won’t count the bones and tell you exactly how many that is because that’s certainly unnecessary.  I just found myself ravenous.  And I went a little bit non compos mentis and just wanted to feel full and not like there was possibly something wrong with my face (I think it’s just that radioactive Proactiv, which works, except when it doesn’t at all and seems to have a shorter and shorter shelf life).  I know I have to get on track.  I’m not off track, but I’m taking some very ass-backwards routes to get to where I want to go.

The letters.  So, yeah, I did something kind of vulnerable-making last night.  I replied with a very pithy, so pithy it was just one word response to the email last night which was apologizing for taking so long emailing, but he wanted to do it properly, wouldn’t miss doing it.  It was, essentially, an actual, verifiable, one-word flirt.

And…as seems to happen as I write this, I’m left with…something to ponder.

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