Friday

Friday. Sunny and warm enough.

Sarah has been and gone, leaving a clean house in her wake. I've washed and dried the towels, folded and put them away. There's a load of t-shirts washing and supper's in the stove.

One thousand four hundred thirty new words written this morning. Turns out the 300 words I wrote yesterday were good; they were just in the wrong place. WIP now weighs in at 61,310. Ish.

The cats joined me in Steve's office this morning, and there they all still are, melty-sleeping in the sun puddles.

Currently reading The Glass-Cursed by P.H. Blackwood, which has an interesting voice, and seems to want to talk about PTSD and the accommodations demanded by Real Life of those returning from a war. This is, I note, a Cozy Fantasy.

I'm listening to The Paladin by CJ Cherryh.

Which improbably reminds me that, now that I've viewed Murderbot in one mad rush, I need to cancel my subscription to Apple-TV before it flips over from free to pay me.

It looks like my weekend's free, and I'm tempted to drive down to the ocean. Only, my back still hurts, so -- maybe not. Well. There's always a book to write.

Who's got Plans for the weekend?