I've spent a few hours cleaning up my manuscript; same font, pagination, attributing quotes, etc. When R gave me the table of contents with page numbers, I got a little weepy, sap that I am.
Clear hot morning, off to pack for Portland. Oh, off to see the shrink first. Sometimes I think I have nothing to talk about and then I spend the whole session on the floor with kleenex stuck to my face.
Can't sleep past 6 AM, too bright in my room. I refuse to wear eye shades (or ear plugs). Too many years waiting for the pager to go off. I can be ready to go to a birth in record time, teeth brushed even. Wonder-midwife, that's me. All I need is a cape and some winged boots. Yeah.
7 comments:
The neighbor's chickens have already learned to jump their brand new fence. If they keep wandering into my yard (where they are happy with my non chemically fertilized grass) maybe they'll drop a few feathers and I can make you a cape.
Would those be red wings?
What if you got the cape caught up in someone's vagina? That would be a problem.
I think a chicken feather cape would be grand, r, and no cruelty would be involved. Red is a bit Superman-ish. I'd prefer blue, h. And d, I remove all outerwear before any birthin' situations.
When I was staying out too late every night during college, I whittled my morning routine down to 10 minutes.
I've been wanting to write an abcdedarian.
V-did you even manage to brush your teeth? Try an abcdedarian poem. Post it I dare you.
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