I’m recovering from a remarkably physical day at the library, by my admittedly wimpy standards,* and am planning on spending a lovely hour reading The Key by Averil Dean (hi, Averil!) while my poor, neglected children languish in absorbed ecstasy in front of the Evil Box.
And then, it’s bath, bedtimes, and back to breaking and entering, bantering and planting clues.
With newfound resolve–this helped—and just a little guilt, I’ve stopped watching Torchwood in the middle of season two and taken the pledge to avoid computer games until this draft is finished. We’ll see how long that lasts—I’m having Ianto withdrawals already . . .
But half my team is about to leave for Reno—maybe–and the rest are headed for Chicago. Hijinks, double-crosses, and angst ensue. Will they be able to save their mentor in time?
Don’t ask me . . .
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*Weeded the romance section for dups (yes, I still feel guilty) and did a shelf shift—don’t get me started on being told there’s no room when the overstuffed shelves are surrounded by half-empty ones; helped shove five carts of old blueprints in and out of our ancient elevator; helped carry two empty carts down the stairs for another patron, as ancient elevator was obviously busy; and ran up and down the stairs several times since several of our freerange patrons are starting to develop their Spring Odeur and the wise librarian does not accompany them into ancient elevators.
Earful of Cider 