I can’t put up a tree this year, and it’s gnawing at me. There is no point in putting it up, because we are probably moving in less than two weeks. Hoping the contractor will get on with the floors, because we would like to move in before Christmas.
Every contractor I’ve ever hired, with exception of two, has to be prodded. I have gotten to the point when, after reminding them 3 times to do something, I automatically switch to raging bitch mode, and then miraculously they start doing things to placate me. I resent this, because I don’t enjoy being a raging bitch.
I have a mysterious piece of art in progress for you.
What is this, you ask? Nobody knows. Ooo, mystery! We are having to wait while it’s done, and it’s kind of difficult, so now you can be waiting with us. I spread annoyance to the world.
You know what else I’m waiting on? Finishing this novel. We’re about 15-18K from the end, and it’s full steam ahead, and I want it to be done already. We know how it all ends, and Gordon and I just need to vomit it on the screen. I am super stressed out, because Kate is super stressed out. People sometimes ask if the emotions from the characters bleed over. They do. To be able to write emotions convincingly, you have to experience them. So like Kate, I’m super irritated by everything. Kate, at least has an excuse.
I knew the magic was up, because my aunt exploded into our bedroom and roared, “The child is missing!”
I sat bolt upright on the bed. Curran groaned. I realized I was still naked from last night and pulled a blanket over my chest.
“Knocking,” I told her. “Privacy.”
She glared at us. “This is no time to have sex! Your son is missing! I can’t feel him.”
Kill me, somebody. “He isn’t missing. He’s across his street with his other grandmother. You can’t feel him, because I strengthened the ward on George’s house to mask his presence.”
She squinted at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I went there yesterday to check on him around one in the morning. I saw him sleeping. Grendel is with him. There is enough werebears in that house to hold off an army.”
Erra considered it. “Very well. Also Redacted and some blond woman are in the car in your driveway, talking. You should probably do something about it.”
She turned and swept down the hallway, right past the remnants of the door she’d broken.
I turned over and bumped my head on Curran’s chest a few times. “Why me?”
I have no excuse. Snarling at the total strangers in the grocery store and internet “because I’m trying to finish my book” isn’t exactly going to win me any friends. So I am going to hide at home today, mourn the lack of Christmas tree, and try to write until I fall over.
Not having a Christmas tree sucks.