Yesterday was the office Christmas party. The one that happens every year, that means an all day nosh-fest. We aren’t going to talk about the number of dietary indiscretions I committed. Suffice it to say that I don’t feel awesome today and really would like to just eat vegetables the rest of the week.
My classes for next semester are entirely set and ready to go. Things are mostly wound up here at the evil day job until January (though we’re all still in the office). And it is inappropriately hot for 5 days before Christmas. Welcome to Mississippi.
I dove back into Riven yesterday, immediately knocking out the next scene. I’m really happy with how that one is coming out. I also spent some time during breakfast this morning playing with a short story that will introduce the contemporary romance series I want to write. Because I’m feeling charitable and amused, I’ll share a little of that before I go run away to write some more:
My cat sent it.
Right. Because anyone would believe that. It was the new version of my dog ate my homework. The kind of bad joke that people told at cocktail parties after one too many martinis.
It was not the kind of thing that removed culpability when, by all appearances, you seemed to have deliberately sent an entire marketing proposal to your client’s biggest competitor, with whom you just happened to have a history. And it was not the kind of thing that kept you from getting sacked. Not even dating the boss’s son, who’d been witness to the cat incident, was enough to indemnify you against such an outcome.
And so, as she crossed the Mississippi state line headed for her parents’, Norah’s car was full of all her worldly possessions instead of her former boyfriend and the cat from Satan.
“Happy friggin’ New Year,” she muttered.