It seems of late that a lot of my spare mental time has been taken up with me staring blankly into space, a soft soughing filling the usual saucepan clatter of thinking noise that my brain likes to produce, and that often keeps me up at night, when I really should be sleeping. I have a lot of stuff to get finished by the end of the year, and it's scaring me a little - following me around when I go for a walk, or jumping out at me when I get out of the shower, you know, that sort of thing.
Still, I managed, between that soft nothing noise, and stacking my new bookcases* - the construction of which tore the skin off my knuckles, and reminded my back that it's not as young as it used to be, and that it probably should get a little more flexible - to write a short story tonight, well, a short short story, but one that made me chuckle, even if it never finds a home.
I've started working at the Avid Reader in West End, on top of the tutoring, so I am well and truly employed, which is in itself a peculiar thing, but good, peculiar thing, you couldn't hope for a nicer bunch of people to work with than the folk at Avid, and I'm loving the tutoring.
I'm just missing that saucepannery clattering.
*and let's not even begin to think about the terrors of Ikea, all those flat pack boxes, the reek of chipboard, and the lingering stench of terror (or, perhaps, just the food court).