A couple days ago I emerged, blinking in sunlight, from editing and launching The Kiss: An Anthology About love and Other Close Encounters. I discovered a whole world outside my computer, and it has neat things in it like telephones and cars and even people!
I am never so happy as when the words are piling up faster than the laundry and my diet is reduced to smoothies and cottage cheese, both foods I can eat at the computer while I am zooming towards a deadline. I am happy enough to look at the chaos that has become my home with nostalgia, like one might regard the unfortunate tattoo one obtains during an especially memorable drinking binge.
The dogs and plants are still alive. I also seem to have acquired a few new pets. There is now a mouse living under the dishwasher. My apartment has apparently become a refuge for every fruit fly east of the Mississippi. One of my first acts of non-writerage has been to wage war upon the unfortunate fruit flies. The mouse is going to take a little time. I’ve got plans for a nefarious (but humane) trap. It has to be placed just right to catch the mouse while not enticing the dogs, as they are all fond of the same bait.
The picture at the top? Meet ‘Frank.’ Frank is a spontaneous life form I discovered inside my grandmother’s saucepan (now dubbed Revere Beware) when I lifted the lid. I haven’t decided what to do about Frank. He’s quiet, feeds himself and is generally well behaved. Getting rid of him might require nuclear armaments. I’m in too good a mood to engage in all-out warfare. I might try poking him with a stick. A very long stick.
Frank has been evicted. My grandmother can stop turning over in her grave.
Ooooh! Look! I can see myself!
The mouse took the bait without setting off the trap. Time for a new strategy, involving a cereal box and a peanut butter sandwich.
I’ll be starting Sneak Thief soon. But first, I’m calling a cleaning service.