The short version of yesterday:

• 09:40 Somewhere in this office I surely must have some motivation to shower and get dressed lying around, unused. #
• 09:41 Wow. I don't know when I last wrote a sentence so full of misplaced modifiers. Now I am apparently lying around my office, unused. Huh. #

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 When you write a story with ANY gay sex in it, even when it's only been oblique references so far, you cannot, cannot, CANNOT write a sentence like this:

Evie was talking to the daughter at the counter by the sink, whispering consolingly to her as Luke deposited his load on the table.  

Even though it's clear from prior context that Luke is carrying boxes, even though he already sounds like the last guy in the world who would ejaculate on a countertop while two women were on the other side of the room.  You. Just. Can't.

That's a prologue and three chapters.

My eyes are blurry and I am having a hard time spelling.  I also have that half-way-down the rabbit hole feeling.

It's really, really good.  I think so, anyway.  

I am so happy this story didn't die.  


All this and Mercury retrograde, too.  And I only took one pain pill all day.  Any second here I should burst into song and start farting rainbows or something.

Think this calls for a glass of wine.  Which I will take two sips of, then hand to Dan, and do the avatar.  

Still.  Two sips is still two sips.

'Night.