Fully planned on coming home and getting in about 30 minutes (or more, if the dog would allow it) of writing in before the hubby and the kiddo came home and had to start dinner. However, realized that if I didn't go to the chiropractor today, I likely wouldn't sleep. So, I went. After getting cracked (and cursing the scoliosis every insane adjustment after the other), started to book it home, and the gas light came on.
Ever have one of those days when it seems like everything is against you?
Made it to the gas station, and since I was there popped in to get a french vanilla "cappuccino" and pack of caramel creams (This is well-known writing fodder going back from high school days, often shared in the locksmith "box" where Kristi worked.) Made it home with enough time to turn on the computer, open up the manuscript, and become overwhelmed by the amount of work left to do in order to turn it into the book I want it to be.
Going to give myself credit for at least thinking about writing. That counts, right?
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