We've gotten into kind of a routine with markgritter's trips out to California. This upcoming week's trip isn't routine: it's Thursday dark-morning through Saturday dinnertime instead of Monday dark-morning through Friday late. And then there'll be another trip the last week of the month, and that one will be the normal one. This makes it very hard to schedule things with his or my parents, eating up weekend time like it does.
I feel like a cooked noodle. I think this is the beginning of post-draft crash. Boom! Over she goes. And down for the count. The plum wine acted awfully fast last night, I think partly because I'm a total lightweight but partly because of my mental state. Noodles can't type. Other than that, definite noodlehood.
I'll be staggering south for awhile this evening, and we may end up dining with C.J.'s parents tomorrow night for his birthday, or we may not. I have no idea if my mom will be popping up midweek for her friend's MN Supreme Court justicing or not. Much of the week is up in the air, in fact. And it'll be fine. And I can deal with short stories if I need to do some fiction. Right? Of course right.