Right. So that previous hopeful statement of “I’m doing it!” has sputtered and failed. For example, today I had my cousins over, entertained a four-and-a half year-old and 7-year-old, both with more energy then three espresso shots, cleaned ground up yellow Play Dough out of the cream-colored carpet, photographed the cat after it had been labeled with a post-it note (“Cat”), juggled Scooby Doo movie watching with a contentious architect meeting, and then died. Seriously, why do I want children someday?
And NaNoWriMo’s emails to me, far from being encouraging, are downright jerky. “You should be at 15,000 words by Monday! Better put the pedal to the metal! Are you writing?” Ha. Ha hah ha.
