Slime (600 words)

Truffle and I weeded a small corner of the yard. I should be weeding on a grand scale, because as usual this time of year the place is overrun with oxalis and curly dock, but I can't stand to do it for more than a few minutes because everything's all wet and slimy. And I wrote 600 words even though I didn't expect to write anything with the nice fellow home.

Pregnancy seems to dominate the middle of the book, but I will be getting back to housing technology soon. And this is where the man without a country sort of acquires a country of sorts: the country of the displaced and repatriated, within the country of the settled.

And now I have to pick up the girl. I have been Chauffeur Mom today, something I swore I would not do. But. They're all so needy and I am so available -- the nice fellow's ailment seems to require a root canal, tomorrow.

I posted in my scrapbook a sort of sketch of what the cover for The Conduit should look like, but something happened to it in the posting and it doesn't look as good as it does on my computer.

Edit, some time later: another hundred words. Fooey. The nice fellow's been sleeping the sleep of the well and truly drugged, the young woman is busy in the back room sewing shiny things, and I should be able to write, but I can't, so I may as well bathe and remove the lingering smell of compost from my person, and then finish off the taxes/FAFSA things.

But what I want to do? Play Atomica till my eyes bleed.