I’m pretty much through yesterday’s bad funk. I’ve infected poor Rob with it, though, and I don’t think he likes me very much right now. Not that I like me much lately, either. But we’ve always soldiered through that before, no reason not to think we will again.
I’m struggling with my novel rewrite, too. When it goes well, I’m on top of the world. When it doens’t–I just opened the file and realized the character I’ve just brought in sounds just exactly like another character–well, I’m not.
Tomorrow Sam and I will go try to see if the fish store people (who I don’t like very much either, and with better reason) can figure out what’s wrong with the fish.
Today was really a good day. We all went x-country skiing (Lily in pulk, Wy on my back), and then came back to the house for a little snowshoeing. It’s what I want a Saturday to be like, except that we two grown-ups are all stiff on account of my great grumpiness and the word Prozac got tossed around, not lightly, and of course then you come back in to a messy kitchen and undone laundry and bookshelves still gaping and vacant and it kind of kills the buzz. My biggest regret isn’t all the undone stuff, it’s that I let it kill the buzz.
I was going to take down yesterday’s post, but I’m not. That’s how I feel sometimes, and that’s all there is to it.