There's nothing to see here

By the end of today, I should have 45,009 lovely novelly words.

Unfortunately, I am currently 14,009 words behind.

Despite this crushing news, Carol's eye (Carol the BBC Weather lady) is getting better. THANK GOD.

Although I try not to be a shallow person, it's very difficult to eat your breakfast and catch up on the forecast looking at this:

Sorry Carol, but I don't make many demands for my small life, and I've found this a very difficult and stressful time.

I am so glad that she's on the mend.

So like I was saying, before you interrupted me, I'M SO BEHIND GUYS.

Also, one of my characters has turned into Gollum. Is it plagiarism if I change his name and cover him with fur? He's not obsessed with the ring either. He's obsessed with the internal destruction of my protagonist. Phew!

I'm off to that writing lock-in thingy magingey on Saturday and they've just sent me a goal setting worksheet. I don't really want to spend the whole day finishing my novel on admin and Gollum, so for the next three days I need to write 6333 words a day. Is it warm in here, or is it just me?

As if things couldn't get worse, on top of my floundering ability and Carol's eye, GingerBeard caused a double shop pile up. CAN YOU IMAGINE?

That's right, after I'd completed the shop for the week and had filled all of our space, GB turned up arms laden with bags. I nearly died of shock. Which would've been a real shame as then there would be even less people to eat the stupid amount of food. I wanted to positively reinforce this behaviour but at the same time, I was pissed about being inundated with broccoli.

So I had to go with, "I know your heart was in the right place, but this is offensive."

I don't think anyone's problems are as bad as mine. No one comments on my blogs, and I can only assume it'd due to a sense of awe and pity. Keep it coming.

ALSO

I fell asleep standing up in the shower this morning. Maybe I fainted? Probably due to the weight of all the tremendously crushing things in my life. Luckily I swayed into the glass partition, and managed to cling onto it as I woke up. The last thing I remember thinking about is the plot of my novel, which really goes most of the way to explaining it.

Luckily, the drama in my story is really ramping up; I've just written:

'I can’t read his face at all. This has always been a problem and makes me nervous in every conversation. At least, for once, he’s taken off his suit and tie, in exchange for some slack pants, with white paint marks from doing up the lounge last year.'


 I know, incredible, and I've not even edited it yet.