ARGH! This essay is beginning to grate now. Every word feels like it's being ripped from another dimension, biting and clawing to be left alone. I've now written just over 1800 words, but it feels like it'll never be finished. I keep combing what I have to make sure I have enough words to finish this last bit about the Early Music Revival (sorry, Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, I shall have to keep Eight Songs For A Mad King to myself this time) and the windy-uppy conclusion. I was about to say I knew where I was going with the conclusion, but leaving out Max... I have to rethink.
Oh noes! Hang on, I have to free my little Principessa fish from the net! (She is currently playing in her hamster-style tent-tube with some Daleks. However, the tube has become a net that she keeps getting trapped in.)
Awww. She's so cute and funny:
Thank you Mummy, you saved me. I missed you sooo much. Can you make me a drink to make me feel better?
Just lately she has settled on a new phrase. Whenever she has food or drink that she doesn't want, the cry goes up:
But it tastes like snakes!
How does she know? I've never seen her eat a snake! Maybe Grandad told her that snakes taste like chicken. Besides for snakey-tasting stuff, she is enjoying school so far. Thankee muchly.
Back to the grindstone, anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment