My new office looks out over my rural yard. When I hear a new noise outside I always try to identify its source. I’ve identified new birds (wood thrush), recognized familiar ones (you’re a loud thing, chickadee), and had a sighting of the neighbor’s terrier. (What new beast is—-never mind, classic fluffy dog, size medium-to-small.)
I found a walk through some fields that I can take with my dog without either of us being mistaken for deer by zealous hunters. I’ve also established a new rule of country living: Always check your towel for bugs/arachnids/other small horrors before taking a shower.
I am subject to more than one prime directive when I wake up in the morning, which is confusing. Paint, write, live in your new place. This sounds like I’m an artist living on air, but in fact the painting is of a more domestic kind. Gotta put a second coat of paint on the bedroom and then (because I live in a farmhouse) paint the damn floor.
I have to finish chapter 11, half-ass chapter 12, and revise in
13 12 days to send my MS to an actual editor. No problem, right? Right?? Maybe it’s write in the morning, paint in the afternoon. Live in between the two. It sounds idyllic, but it’s actually a pain in the ass. And my car needs an inspection. But it beats working in a cubicle farm or a chicken farm, which is what this old house used to be.
(Also happy coming out day! I came out so long ago that I was bi. Now I think pansexual is more the term of choice for me because it includes nonbinary folks. Although it’s all pretty theoretical as I’m all settled down with Mr. Spouse.)
How is your October?