Like. I see the appts in my planner. I acknowledge their existence. I gaze upon the ink I've spilled on different dates. But the doing is a large-ass commitment.
Told middle daughter I would take her to Sam's yesterday.
I. Forgot.
Yeah.
So guess who's going to Sam's today? In 96 degree heat? Instead of yesterday's 83?
Yes. My idiotic ass.
I kept thinking Thursday was Friday and Friday was Thursday, and I don't even remember Wednesday.
FFS
FFS
And it's mid-June? What the fuck of all fucks? Wasn't it March? For like two months? Now, it'll be August when I blink. Crazy shit.
Had to get that out there. Feel a bit better now.
Murphy the Great decided to wake up me up at 2:30 this morning and share my pillow. Cool beans. Frigid beans.
But...when Ginger Spice is comfy, he makes biscuits. Which will wake anybody out of a dead sleep, even when they're dreaming, and alert them of the issue. Thrice, this little shit got me. Mainly my neck. So sleep was spotty, at best.
Up at six, I fed the heathen at five, and straightaway to my office to put some shit in order.
Because I thought I had all day, today, to focus on the writing. But I didn't. And guess what?
That worked out supremely well for me.
Inventoried my author copies. Checked on my new order. Made sure I had enough books, I think, for July 25th, August 1st, and August 15th.
Cleaned out my desk and one of my many bookshelves.
And who's merry ass was in the middle of all my papery goodness?
Ah, yes. The Murph.
I'll leave you with this picture of boy child.
While I get ready to leave for Sam's.
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