Alone in the house.
Feels like a flame licking at the wick on a stick of dynamite.
I can’t get the song “Life in Mono” out of my head, but only the part without words.
For the first time in a long time I am alone in the house without distractions. Even the dog, who usually makes a game of nipping at my toes until he’s pulled my socks off has opted instead to sleep.
I suppose now would be the perfect time to work on my novel.
My novel. I signed up for NaNoWriMo, but I don’t expect to actually have 50,000 words written by the end of the month. I needed the push, but mostly I just want the opportunity to say pretentious things like, “I should put that in my novel,” or “No honey, I’m not in the mood. I need to work on my novel.” I really have no idea what to write about. But I mean how hard can it be? You create a character - or find one on the street - you put them in a situation, and BOOM! STORY. Easy, right?
I also signed up for NaBloPoMo, which sounds like a more plausible endeavor.
I wish I could find a distraction.