I’ve got prune-hands!

If I lived in a house that floated on the water, and I was having a lovely bath within that house, would that be ridiculous?

And what if a rubber ducky was involved? Would it have to learn to swim twice?

I’m asking for a friend, of course. The real me is super busy writing a novel that nobody will see.

Nano whatever, yo.

I don’t want to talk about my Nanowrimo progress. I don’t feel like flaunting my wordcount. This might change in time for the weekend, but I wouldn’t put money on it.

What I am stoked about, though, are chores.

Effing chores. I was avoiding them one night while reading blog posts about increasing productivity. Yes, lol. The article itself is lost, because I read it more than a week ago, and googling “productivity” isn’t quite specific enough. No matter, because the main idea was “do stuff”, just like every other blog post about increasing productivity.

One of the suggestions that I did like, though, was that it’s easier to get stuff done when your environment is prepared for it, so you don’t find yourself intimidated by all of the things you have to do to even begin doing stuff. I took this as a personal slight against my housewifey chores, and ever since then I’ve been getting mega dishes done! Even the big gross things that I usually avoid. Even the things that aren’t allowed in the dishwasher. I always leave one dish undone, though. You’ve gotta leave something for tomorrow.

Now, when I get home at Stupid Late P.M., I arrive to a sparkly-clean kitchen with a fork in the sink. And it makes me feel all warm inside.

I’ll try not to get too carried away about vacuuming, because Mr. Hoover finally sucked up his last bit of debris and has been replaced. Mr. Hoover had a terrible habit of smoking in the living room. It’s no kind of behavior for a vacuum cleaner, but I’ve tolerated it over the years because I know Mr. Hoover has a tough job, what with our fluffy kitty and two grown-ups with long hair who sometimes get a bit messy with the quinoa. We’re not particularly easy on a vacuum. But Mr. Hoover was not particularly easy on me, either. Mr. Hoover is gone now, and nobody misses him. He’s been replaced by a snazzy snazzy Dyson. Mr. Dyson makes me want to dump stuff on the carpets, just for the chance to whip him out again.

And vacuuming is the worst of all gateway chores, because once the carpets are impressive they start to make the walls look all smudged, and floors unkempt, and the blinds unbraided.

Chores. They are done. Words, not so much. But as long as nobody dirties a dish or tracks in any carpet debris (lookin’ at you, jerk of a cat), I’m so ready.

Not exactly right now, though. There’s a bath and wine. And potential banana bread.

Water words

It has been a busy November, just like most of my Novembers.

It’s the big changeover month where work transforms from a long-blown popsicle stand to a manic hive all abuzz with delightful and charming bees. It’s the month that I spend writing terrible novels.

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The novel is going swimmingly, by the way. I seem to be keeping up with the required daily word contribution of just under 1700 words, getting ahead on the weekend, barely scraping by on Wednesday, and completely blowing it on Monday (thanks to my Danish classes) and Tuesday (because of dodgeball).

And here I am now. Sparkly and practically begging to ruin the trusty Bluetooth keyboard that’s been my buddy for at least five years now. The typing has been free of mishap so far, but I’m making no promises. If I drown my keyboard tonight, at least I’ll comfort myself knowing that we had a good run.

Hey, USA, good job picking a president. I can’t imagine what more could possibly be said about that. I’m sure the rest of the Information Superhighway has no comment.

All of these words are not counting as part of my novel. I’ll bet I can sort that out before the water gets cold.