Good morning, and welcome to your Tuesday!
*grandly bows and motions the throngs of blog followers inside*
There’s orange juice in the kitchen… (NOT freshly squeezed; this may be Florida but this is also Chloe’s where pulp is disdained and cursed for its inherent ickiness.)
Bread by the snazzy red toaster… (I strongly believe every author should have a red toaster. It clearly states: “Even the dreadfully mundane will be colorful within these walls.”)
Butter in the refrigerator… (A house without butter is a house without Chloe.)
And crumpets on the…
*narrows eyes and glares suspiciously at the unexpected crumpets*
*the dog suddenly growls as she stares up at the far end of the couch*
Bloated and stinky and unpleasantly sweaty, my specter of imminent failure is back.
*he waves a fat pinky at me as he stuffs his mouth full of his stupid crumpets*
I did not need this.
I did not need this, at all.
Just because Pound is due in a week does not by necessity mean that all my writing insecurities have to crash at my pad…
Yes, I did say “insecurities.” Plural.
Frank’s apparently brought a friend this go-around.
It’s a parrot, and her name is Lola.
She nests all her colorful plumage right on Frank’s head and repeats every single negative thing Frank spouts.
*drops face to my hands and sighs pitifully*
Oh, yeah. This is going to be bad. Very, very bad.
Good morning, and welcome to my freaking Tuesday.