Motherfather. With two hours to spare, I completed my novel for Nanowrimo. 50000 words of utter bunkum about a man who moves to Texas and half climbs a mountain. Can’t think of where I got the inspiration from. Maybe some man I met down the pub or something. Pubs. I remember them. Vaguely. I have a vague recollection that I used to be able to see without a squint and answer messages from friends and family, and take photos for my caption competition.
Well I always knew I responded to the pressure of the deadline, but the last few days have been particularly responsive. I have a blister on my typing finger, have failed to move my meagre possessions and fantastic Saab and motor sickle from valkyriie‘s house, and haven’t seen hardly noone in ages. My command of Engrish fails me. I need a few days off.
Go me, I’m the greatest, etc, etc.
