I swear to God if I accidentally delete one more post (I just spelled that poast) I will quit the blogging life.
Anyway...SO in the last week, our little family has endured simultaneous chest colds, stomach flus, and mysterious high-fever achey-body-shakey complaints. I have never cleaned up so much vomit in my life. The girls are better now, thankfully, and Patrick has recovered as well. I, on the other hand, have managed to teeter on the edge of this in a way I've mastered since becoming a mother...who has the time to languish sickly with two kids? It's lurking, though (in the depths of my throat, chest, gut).
I finished the novel on my grampa's birthday...last word, "arms." I cried a little bit, drank a mini-bottle of champagne and saved the cork to join the five others (another hoody-goody compulsive habit). Now I'm revising madly. I want to get it off to Christy tomorrow or Tuesday. I need it out of my house, head.
I painted two murals this week...the biggest hit was the ballerina for a little girl down the street yesterday. I like being able to finish a project in a day. I should never have become a novelist. I have a poet's attention span.