Day 9 in the Midwest leaves me at the usual position, where I replay escape scenarios in the back of my mind and start drinking wine at lunch. Being on this crazed deadline might buy me a vowel, but it’s really not related.
I’ll just have to leave the rat part scrabbling away in background (I’ll think fond thoughts for it, and set out some cashews or something) and bring whatever steely determination is left over (rather a lot actually) to the Fortuneteller and Rick-Rack sections. I’m hoping for the best for the day. Tomorrow morning, praise be, I go home to Miss Fish and my beautiful, chirpy garden.
This afternoon, Bill, however fresh he is or isn’t, will be around to both distract me and to take over the errands and the endless calls for milk, bread, bananas, cat crunchies, karate lessons, car headlights, bike repair, and plumbers, and turn my reality into a French dinner and kisses. And not an hour too soon.