It’s odd that although there are much fewer bumps right now, I still haven’t got any time to write. Like most people who don’t have time to write, I am doing it anyway, but it’s stressful and incomplete. I have another hubby assignment that I’m rather afraid won’t be fulfilled in favour of a much much bigger project. I’ve been trying to read the goofy Mercedes Lackey fairy godmother book for two days, and have only gotten in about eight chapters because Bridge of Birds is so much more engaging (and yet a sloooow read for me).
No more juggling Wednesdays. We’ve moved the game to Mondays, and instead of just guessing which grandmother Owen will terrorise, now we know (thank you, by the way). Also it was just the weekend, and I had ample opportunity on at least one day. So why do I feel so cramped for time?
Part of it is that I don’t always use it wisely. And to be totally honest, some of that is in turn because I have crippling insomnia and Owen still thinks that this Sleep thing is a bollocks idea. …and since it’s past 23:00, I shall take some advice, possibly some sleep aid, and get some Zzz.