Eugie Foster (eugie) wrote,
Eugie Foster

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Sunday after Ostara

Hobkin's sleeping like a lump in my lap this morning while I wait for Matthew to wake up. He (Hobkin, not Matthew) was actually rather lump-like for most of yesterday too. I had to make Matthew fetch the mail because I was pinned by a slumbering skunk, and then Hobkin didn't do more than raise his head and blink sleepily at me when I began whooping and shrieking upon opening the note from Cricket. Sometimes, nothing perturbs him, and others, you can't even open a door without him stomping at you.

He stomped a lot at the new tuffet. I wish I'd had the digicam out. Missed several choice "awww!" photo moments with Hobkin stretching his little head out to sniff noses with the tuffet.

Matthew emptied, cleaned, and refilled the hot tub yesterday. It should have heated to the proper temperature overnight, and then it's all soaking goodness. Ahhh.

Today, I will write. I meant to get a big ole chunk of writing in yesterday, but I sort of got de-railed by the sale news. But hell, my muse can get thrown off like that any day.

I'm within sniffing distance of finishing up a fantasy adventure/mystery fusion short story. And then back to the novella. Charge!

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