I'm an idiot.
Most likely very arrogant.
Undoubtedly vain.
And incredibly optimistic.
I've decided to have a go at National Writing Novel Month or NaNoWriMo for short. November has been allotted for all aspiring novelists to vomit up at least 50,000 words by the end of the month. Really it should now be called International NoWriMo because it has spread way beyond the US and has done so for a number of years now. Never mind; I'm wasting precious time....
Word count is key: not editing or quality or re-writes or second - let alone final - drafts.
As the (old and ageing) Princess of Procrastination, InNoWriMo (as I'm now going to refer to it) might be the only way that one of my three ideas for a novel gets done. The one I've selected is not likely to bowl anyone over with surprise or knock 'em out with creativity or insight, but somehow seems to be the one that's been calling me over the past few weeks; begging me to give it some time and effort.
Of course, this ridiculous challenge falls within a month of appointments, commitments already made, floors so filthy they crunch when you walk on them, Love Chunks being overseas for two weeks and thus conferring temporary Single Mother status on me and ..... Sapphire's stomach issue rearing its ugly, unwanted and undeserved head again.
The pain, exhaustion and white-faced fatigue has returned for her. Three days off school so far and a few minutes ago she went dejectedly back to bed, knowing that unless a miraculous turnaround occurs tomorrow she won't be cooking my birthday cake or having her best buddy over to stay.
In fact, when Elmo is invited into her bed, it's clear that she's sick. Not that she'll let me show you the photo I took which would have left you with a much nicer visual image to continue your day with than the mental nightmare of me being handed a pair of sterilised rubber gloves and a syringe by the doctor in order to obtain a special 'sample' for the Zurich clinic that left both Sapphire and myself horrifed and doubled over laughing at the same time. "Good!" I gasped, "Stay that way and make it easier for me!"
Results come back next week and, until then, I have a poorly teenager and a dog who is already bearing the brunt of said teen's handiwork:
Wish us all luck....
