Thursday. I get up with minimal urge to write, but I get to it anyway. I tackle a story I’d shelved, unfinished, several months. I work on the first two scenes and start to get a better feel for where it needs to go. Then it’s back into the regular daily schedule.
It’s one of those busy Thursdays. Drop the Kinderbeast at school. Drive the Elderbeast to PEAC. Go to work. Get coffee. Have a meeting.
Interlude: during the meeting my phone rings. It’s the school, so I excuse myself from the meeting and answer it. It’s not necessarily anything serious, but it could be; it could mean the Kinderbeast has finally come down with the same plague that took our the Elderbeast and then myself. The caller introduces herself as my son’s teacher. She goes on to explain that my son doesn’t have any lunch…
“Yes, he does,” I say, remembering quite clearly making it, packing it, and placing it in his classroom.
“He insists you’ve bought him canteen lunch today, but the canteen’s closed … ” the teacher says.
“No, he’s got his lunch …” I say.
“… and now he doesn’t have any lunch.”
“No, he’s definitely got his lunch. It’s in the Fireman Sam lunch box.”
” …. oh yes, it’s right here …”
I return to the meeting, which ends shortly after that. Then drive back to PEAC to collect the Elderbeast. Drop him at school. Return to work. Have lunch. Get some work done. Then a two-hour workshop. Then home.
Even though it’s not as cold as last night, I spend the evening feeling mostly cold and tired. Definitely a recipe for an early night.