Later I figure I’ll do a quick mapping of my evolution of a romance writer. I was going through some boxes, looking for an old magazine article and I found one of my first romance manuscripts. The tears of hysterical laughter are barely dry on my cheeks as I type.
Tomorrow’s Old Home Day, and the tall kid is supposed to march with the Scouts in the parade. The weatherman just informed us that tomorrow will be the hottest day we’ve had in three years. Ack! Have I mentioned that heat and humidity trigger some kind of bitch overload syndrome in me, and I find it very difficult not to just randomly beat the crap out of people.
But this isn’t the most…involved den, and we try to make sure the tall kid does the less-than-fun stuff, and not just the glo-bowling and snow tubing like some of the kids do. So see Shannon suffer. See Shannon try not to make other townsfolk cry. See Shannon die of heat exhaustion.
Of course, the husband has to work all day tomorrow. He left the house at 6 yesterday morning, and he didn’t get home until 10 last night. Sure, and isn’t he in a good mood? At least he won’t be the one who has to keep dragging the short kid out from under the wheels of the fire trucks because the kid dove after a lollipop.
All Tootsie Rolls are confiscated by order of the Maternal Authority, however, so it’s not all bad.
Way to go on the Supreme Court ruling that your home can be taken away, bulldozed and the land given to a private developer, huh? Incredible. Who would think somebody has the time to be on the RWA board and the Supreme Court at the same time?
Okay. I have a feeling I’m going to come back here after I’ve had more coffee and think WTF am I talking about? Enough rambling.