On the plus side, I’m getting so caught up in the ending of my own story I keep forgetting to slather it with ink.
On the minus side, I’m getting so caught up in the ending of my own story I keep forgetting to slather it with ink.
Bleck, snerg, and other annoyed and vaguely German-sounding words.
Her Dogginess, again, does not approve. She thought this bit was finished, and she could go back to leaning on my forearm while I was trying to type, which is what she’s doing now. She heaves big, heartfelt sighs every time I take over the futon, pillows, blanket, notebook, pens and stacks of paper in hand, and climbs down in a plodding manner meant to show me what a terrible person I am, and what a huge burden of inconvenience I have laid upon her.
To be fair to her, the futon is where I tell her to go whenever she leans too heavily on my arm, turning opus into spou, so this must all seem like some cruel joke to her.