Hey! People! If I talked you into NaNoWriMo, do not pass me in the wordcount. That means you, Becky! Slow it on down, there, champ. I’m
struggling, and you appear to be on a greased skateboard. The wheels being
greased, not the board, because that would probably suck and then you wouldn’t
be going fast at all, because you’d be on the ground. But you know what I mean.
But I wrote. It was like herding cats. Completely futile,
one hundred percent frustrating, and I have small cuts on my ankles from the
bastards that kept biting me. But I’m done with my word count for today. So
I had a migraine last night, actually left work at midnight,
six hours before my shift was supposed to end. I hate going home sick, have
only done it a couple of times in my life. But it was worth it. Went home, took the new meds the doctor gave me (woot! They make me sleep, but only after I’d
designed a new sweater that was genius, GENIUS, I tell you*), and slept for
Today I feel great, except it feels like some guy took my
head off in his garage, put it back on, and now he’s kinda standing there,
looking down at the ground at that one extra part, going “huh. I wonder where
that one goes. Oh, well.” Or maybe I should compare my head to Ikea furniture.
You know, when you get it all together (gah, do I hate putting that together)
and there’s always that one piece of metal left over, a very specifically
shaped piece, and you’re sure it is the source of all stability in this chair/couch/bookcase,
but it doesn’t go ANYWHERE. Yeah, they left that piece out of my head. Feels
But it’s almost my weekend. That means I can start training
Clara, for real this time. She’s being a very bad dog, made worse by the fact
that she saves all the badness for Lala and acts like a sweet angel whenever I’m
in the room. Training will save us. She’s smart as a whip and wants to learn
but is WAY too overeager and freaks herself (and me) out of training for long. She
knows sit and down and jump up, but not stay.
What’s your favorite way to teach “Stay?” Lay it on me, for the love of small critters.
*The sweater I designed in my drugged state is not genius, I realized upon sober reflection. As a design detail, I had a piece of fabric INSIDE the sweater, tacked into place, so a lace panel showed up better. Hmmm.
Get a Free Short Story!
Subscribe to get a free copy of Socks for Alex, a Cypress Hollow Short Story, compatible with all devices!