Inch by Inch

[madrobins]

The house looks like an episode of Hoarders. Seriously, does no one but me put anything away? And because I can't carry anything (unless I have it in my mouth, St. Bernard-like) I can't tidy up. I am not a clean freak, but a certain level of clutter starts me clutching my head and looking wild-eyed. I have finished up the proofreading job and sent it away; I am waiting more tech-writing freelancery; and I'm trying to figure out how my dearest Sarah Tolerance gets from Chapter 13, where she knows some stuff, to the end of the book where she has figured it all out and virtue has triumphed, without resorting to some sort of awful "Let Me Tell You About My Villainy" monologue on the part of the eeevil folk. My head is less filled with cotton, hay and rags than it has been, and that is a good thing, but I'm not seeing the path clearly.

And the Spouse just threatened to bring an old friend over for dinner tonight.

On Tuesday I get to walk again. So cannot wait. So.