I'm tired, and my feet hurt
9:06 p.m.
At my writing group last night I had one of those laughing fits where you are totally useless. During one of our exercises, I wrote something that struck me as incredibly funny, and I started giggling, disturbing my fellow writers, I'm sure. Then, when it came time to read back what I had written, I started laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my cheeks. I could not go on and was ready to pass my notebook to Dorothy so she could read my story. But everyone insisted I go on, so I took a deep breath, did my best to control myself, and made it to the end of the sentence before I started laughing again. My god that was funny. Well, for me, it was.
I'm really enjoying the writing group. Some of my fellow writers are really very talented. Pat read a piece about a girl standing on a parapet in ancient Egypt, feeling the straw and mud bricks under her hands, feeling the heat on her skin, watching a hawk circling in the turquoise sky. It was truly convincing.
Today I mentioned to Hubby that I miss taking a fine arts course this term. There's just no way I could fit it into my schedule, with the teaching and the other things, but I still would like to be painting or sculpting, because there's no way I'm doing it on my own at home. Ah, if only I had a studio!
My latest diarythrob, melomane, is in both agony and ecstacy after having a spinal tap done. She has been given little blue pills for the pain, which make her rather drunk, and her normally fastidious spelling and grammar have fallen by the wayside and her typos are thick and furious. I feel so sad for the poor dear, and would send her flowers if I knew where she was.
Okay, I have to cut this short as my son wants the computer. Later alligator.
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