My hair is oily.
My face is breaking out.
I haven’t had a sensible meal in three weeks. Neither has Tog.
The dog’s peeing all over the house because he’s not getting enough exercise.
My TWA is linty.
I have 42 voicemails that I haven’t heard.
My cell phone is about to get disconnected.
My emails are overflowing. And unanswered.
I have 54 Facebook Friend Requests.
When I drop Tog off at daycare she asks, “who picking me up? Gramma? Dadddy?”
I read my edits in one hand while I’m rocking her to sleep at night with the other.
I have to go over the final manuscriipt of Frank Lucas’ Original Gangsta by the 17th.
And I shill for Yummy’s on a daily basis and provide weekly reports on our progress.
Until my world makes sense…