I didn't, really, know what to do with myself all morning. I felt like I was running out of writing steam, but then I wrote a short story, Bunny Goes To The Shops. I'm writing old women's stories, I'm not sure why?
(You can read it on my story blog, FletcherSatchel. Here's a link.)
http://usetheremote.blogspot.com.au
Its not finished yet, but I post it there so I can go and read it and edit it.
I watched episodes of Archer - if you cross James Bond with Charlie Sheen, that made me chuckle - that I recorded but didn't get around to seeing. I love Archer. I fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon. Nice life. Not working 12 hour days, sweetie, not working 12 hour days at all. Shrug. Not working at all. Surprised expression.
I need to text my old boss to tell her I am off work and can do coffee any time. Subtext, I am available to take over from Francesca, if need be. The elusive job that has just been out of my grip. I applied for it in the very beginning, but I'd started using a different system to them and I had no knowledge of their, so Francesca got it. Then she was pregnant and the job was mine again. Then she miscarried and the jobs was taken away again. Surely, this time with breast cancer, it has to be mine.
Of course, I wish F well and a speedy recovery and all of that, blah, blah, blah, but something has to take her out of the equation, a lengthy recovery period would do nicely, don't think I am completely opportunistic. Then again, she means nothing to me.
About now, David will tell me that I am going to hell.
"Not if I don't believe in it," I say.
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