I should perhaps explain that when I moaned about having the family at home today rather than out braving marauding hordes of fifteen year old assassins on BMX bikes (because the whole country is over run with them, as we know), it wasn't just because I can't abide my slug of a husband.
No, I really did have intentions. Good ones too, for the most part: washing and ironing and the kitchen floor, and etc. But I also intended to keep up with things while I'm on a roll. You see I wasn't joking about this damned thing in my head I had to get out. And I've got out three pages of what I had in my head. A series of aide-memoire that will possibly convert into 30-50 pages of text. So I'm getting it out and this was like someone sticking things up with a concrete plug.
I hate it when this happens. No one is tolerant of me in this phase. I can't expect them to understand and I don't blame them for finding me intolerable. That doesn't make things easier for any of us.
Also I've seen something about blogger and a book template which I'm tempted to try, inflicting this on an unsuspecting audience that will be no doubt admirably well equipped to tell me exactly how derivative and meaningless it is.
But I still have to get it out of my head before it drives me insane. You don't have to read it, you know.
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1 comment:
Yes out of head. Better.
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