still drowning, though.
4.2 extremely sucky miles. I think I went out with too few clothes on. When I finally returned home, my hands were so rigid and inflexible I couldn't type.
Soon, everyone will have an online journal: my friend Toni has started hers, Lagniappe.
Today was a washout, after yesterday's heroics. (I forgot to mention: I did those 15 pages in about 3 hours, so I was going at a furious pace.) I outlined the next section I'm going to work on, I went to the bank to deposit some cheques we've had lying around for a million years, and I took a huge batch of books to the Iliad Bookshop.
I walked out with a receipt worth thirty dollars in trade...and 3 new books. Well, used books. These were 3 books I was going to buy through Amazon, but I've been so disappointed with the mysteries I've been buying, it's better to start with the used and move on to new. I like for authors to get their royalties, honest: I've decided they have to start earning them, however.
It's Wednesday, which used to be my writing group meeting night and now it isn't. (We moved it to Sunday afternoon, which we tried exactly once (last Sunday) and decided to move it to Monday night. Linda swears she can leave her job at the proper hour--5pm--to get home for group, which is good because we meet at her place.
Now, since I haven't anything special planned on Wednesday, I've been thinking all day that it's Thursday. Despite all the signs to the contrary, such as yesterday being Tuesday. Sigh. I miss having school to organize my week.
I have decided to remedy this by taking some classes next quarter at UCLA Extension.
I've left large glasses of water all over this house. It's not enough to get 8 glasses a day, I think: I seem to want to drink them all at once.
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Copyright 1999 Diane Patterson
Send comments and questions to diane@spies.com