I went running last night (what else is new?), and ever since I got locked out of the house for the, lemme see, fourth time and went around back to get the hide-a-key, only to find it missing, I've started grabbing my key off the hook, and putting it outside next to the door, just in case.
Well, as I made it back from my pointless run, I leaned over to grab the keys, then recoiled, as my overactive imagination told me there was a spider on the keys. Of course, there was nothing, but I stomped on them anyway, because, hey, maybe it was a shadow, maybe it was early onset dementia, or maybe it was a glossy black spider, the kind I am afraid of, and Scarlett Johansson gets paid to portray.
I retrieved my keys, shook them off, and hung them on the hook again, since the door had NOT been locked while I did my run.
No big deal, of course, and hardly worth mentioning. I mean, you guys know how irritating my imagination can be, what with seeing ghosts while running, crazed hillbillies when staying at the cabin, or imagining that my right hand is a fine, upstanding young lady.*
So, imagine my chagrin today when I went out to get something from the car, and found a squished black widow spider on the cement next to the front door. I don't know how it could've gotten there, but those kinds of pranks are simply not funny.
Sit-ups Today: 166
Sit-ups In August: 682
Push-ups Today: 29 (see what I'm doing there?)
Push-ups in September: 135
Everybody went to a pond for a picnic today, but I had a Skype call set up for the Dunesteef and didn't go. When it was done, I felt like writing, so I took my sister's dog to the park, laid down a blanket, and got in a thousand or so words (on the "Dead & Breakfast" story). I have gotten very close to the climax of the tale, and the hurtle I have to jump is "How could you get someone to come to the bed and breakfast on July 2nd...if they didn't want to come?" I still don't quite know what the trick will be, but once I know, I--
Oh, it just occurred to me, the entirety of the story is told from Natalie's perspective. I can't just cut away to this guy's encounter in his motel room for two or three pages of the story. Dang, am I going to have to have him come down to the lobby, or worse, call her on the phone, to explain what went on? That sounds like a real amateur move on my part, but it's fairly inevitable.
Unless . . .
Words Today: 1389
Words In September: 6601
*The left hand is just a hand. What are you, a sicko or something?
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