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Writing Journal: As Cold as Balls

Good morning, friendly people of the interwebs.

It was 18 degrees yesterday (-8C) and I can’t remember the last time it got this cold in Seattle. There was only one Starbucks open within walking distance, so I dug my heaviest coat out of the closet and we slid on icy feet right into that caffeinated Thunderdome.

They were out of mocha sauce, but at no point did the assemblage descend into chaos. We were happy to leave alive, lattes in hand. When we crossed the street, steam boiled up from manhole covers like eruptions from hidden volcanoes.

I believe this is what people refer to as being “as cold as balls.” But why am I perversely tempted to watch the The Day After Tomorrow? Perhaps I find comfort in watching Dennis Quaid solve things. And it would certainly be atmospheric.

Today is a balmy 25 degrees (-3C). That’s good because I’m due to have tea with a friend and her house is a one mile walk. We’re ready for a round of Omicron roulette! I’m boosted. She’s boosted. Let’s roll those dice!

I’ll try not to break my ass on the icy sidewalk.

Keeping Odd Hours

I’m editing A View to Die For, and for the last two nights I’ve been up until nearly three in the morning. I’ve got midnight energy, and that’s great, but I wish I could sleep in later. At some point I’ll snap like a rubber band and conk out early. But the creative brain wants what it wants. Who am I to argue?

My day awaits, and my goal for today is four chapters edited. So… into the book I go!