Fredfred the Varfolator is expressing her most irate opinion to Zoe, the little westie who lives next door and has the nerve to sniff around her own back yard.
This morning I hustled Jeff and Gabe both out the door at 7am. It was not simple or pretty, but both seemed to be more or less dressed and washed. We dropped Gabe off for carpool, then hit the Breakfast Shoppe where the eggs, homefries, and toast were fine but the coffee was tepid. Consequently, after a quick homeward detour to collect the following items which Bill had requested, last minute, that Jeff bring: sunglasses, poncho, sunscreen, we got airport hot coffee, and now I am quite clear about that. I like my coffee hot.
Now it is 2 days later and I’m feeling the way the house would feel almost empty, except for Gabe popping out of the computer room intermittently to boil pasta or peppermint tea. It is emptyish, and I don’t like it too much, but Jeff’s return on Wednesday will not quite fill it with what’s missing, and that’s the empty-houseliness problem. That it’s not easily correctable. How about a smaller house? An urban house? A beach house? No, no, not now. The fundamental tokens are positioned on their fundamental gameboard squares, and the available moves are scarce and of limited value.
But, in the meantime, I am procrastinating my way out of working on the book like a three-toed sloth and I’m not even sure I’m climbing in the right direction. So, I must now force myself to write at least one sentence. Which is what I’m going to do. Now.
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