I don't think intent and ability correlate all that well in this field, is part of my deal. There are people who can talk about the wonderful things they're going to do in the novel they're going to write someday when they get around to it, when the excuse list dwindles.
For some strange reason, pegkerr kept showing up in my dreams this morning, telling me to hurry and get to it. What it was is not yet clear, nor why Peg when I don't really know her. But I wouldn't want to be unpleasant, so I hurried and got to it. And now I seem to be hurrying and getting to adding things to my to do list.
One of which is picking up a package at the post office. I love birthdays.
Finished writing "Docile Bodies." Freakin' finally. Also finished reading the Hugo-nominee short fiction.
The plumber is supposed to fix the outdoor hose faucets tomorrow morning, finally, after an unsuccessful visit last week. None too soon, as it's sticky here, and the yard could use watering. The Hungarian peppers are a lovely yellowy green. The herbs are going nuts. There are iron sculptures in town tomorrow and Wednesday for Aquatennial, and my aunt Mary's paintings are up for the rest of the month in the Thrivent building, so if we can get downtown, there'll be art to see. So I hope the plumber hurries.
Is 26 supposed to be a hormone roller coaster age for women on a par with 14 or 15? I'm just asking....