(no subject)

Oh dear, I am busy, aren't I? It's been eight days since my last post. Apart from some brief moments of utter panic and one ridiculous phone call, I've been doing nothing else than packing, cleaning and eating. Those lovely 6 kgs I lost the last year? Well the 4 kgs are back and determined to plaster themselves onto my hips.

I also looked into studying for a dog behaviour therapist certificate. It's expensive, takes years, and involves a lot of impracticalities. I had more or less decided to put the idea on hold, but C thinks it's a good idea - apart from him being scared I might get bitten. He's even been calculating how many hours (years!) I need to work to pay off the education. It's tempting, because it is something I'm confident I would be good at and enjoy doing.

And I wrote 491 words. Of course as always I'll start calculating writing speed, novel length and all that, and determine that I could be done with the first draft in 3 months or so, which means 6-8 months for a complete novel? I don't know why I torture myself like this. Looking at my past writing history, I should be lucky if I'm done in 10 years.