Awake and out of bed by about 6:30 this morning. Yes, of my own volition. Spouse and I had agreed to make a go of beginning weekend days with walks. And the only way to get any real enjoyment out of things like that is to do it before the sane people get out of bed. I grumbled and snarled but did it anyway, put on my new walking/running shoes and off we went. We walked three miles. In the rain. Not a single human was sighted until we were just about half way through the return trip.
I did this without coffee.
Still dripping wet, we got the grocery shopping done, came home, had breakfast (yes, that included coffee), watched Dr. Who, and it was still fairly early. I haven’t known what to do with myself today. Some reading, some writing, some trying to nap. Watched, finally, the first two episodes of The Count of Monte Cristo. Damn. It’s so fucking pretty.
I failed to do much writing this past week. Most of that was because of being in Charlotte for three days. Once I’d get back to the hotel after dinner, I only wanted to shower and read. So I was hoping to step it up this weekend, but the story continues to be extremely difficult to write. For a lot of reasons. The end is the worst part. I keep thinking I want to change it, telling myself it doesn’t have to end the way I’ve been planning it to end for the last five years, trying to convince myself that there are logical ways out of the end. I keep envisioning alternate endings. They still aren’t very nice. But no. There’s no mercy here. Sorry. I’m acquiescing on at least one point already. Not this.
So back to it. But first a hot bath for my painfully throbbing foot and the twisted steel cable of my back.