Eight hours, five thousand words

I dropped Janie off at school, got Rocinante’s oil changed and his tires rotated,* and had my rear in the writing chair by 9:10.**

My  husband—who wasn’t wearing my favorite headphones and could therefore  hear my stomach complaining from across the room—made me break for lunch around noon-thirty.***  Checked my e-mail and feeds.

Got back in the saddle around one.

My husband left to pick up the kids around three.  I think.^  He came back with them—and an oven-bake pizza, making him my official hero^^—about four-thirty.

Took a  break—dinner, joined Facebook,^^^ kidstuff, tv, bedtime rituals—and went back to the chair until . . . now.

What time is it, anyway?  I’ve got work tomorrow.

My shoulders hurt, my bottom hurts, my eyes are burning, and my brain is full of fuzz and stray bees.

But y’all, I wrote some today.

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*I didn’t get his cracked windshield replaced, but did receive an estimate that didn’t cause an immediate stroke, so I’m still ahead of the game.

**After paying the car place, I figured the best place to write would be home, as it’s  inexpensive (or pre-paid, anyway) and I don’t have to pack everything up to visit the restroom.  The hot and cold running caffeine ran out waaaay too early, though.  I complained to the management, told myself to stuff it if I didn’t like the choices, and slunk back to work.

***Lured by a two-liter of diet Pepsi.  Damn, I’m easy.

^ He did, at one point, venture into my peripheral vision to glance at the screen.  I slid off my headphones.  “Yes?”
“Just wanted to see what you were giggling about.  Thought it was a video, but you’re writing.”
“I was giggling?”
“Yeah.  You were.”
“Oh.”  I turned the music down a notch, slid my headphones back on, and kept going.

^^Damn, I am easy.

^^^Yeah . . . but only to play Words with Friends.  Really.

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