After a quiet day of writing, research and keeping the ankle up, I received an email from my agent about some interest in my humorous nonfiction project. This is a major publisher who has actually published one of my stories before in an anthology. All the talk about “changes” and such is making my brain is very busy. Nothing is official — pas du tout! — so there is room for more activity later.
Last night, The Frenchman and I swapped desks, moving the much-too-high-for-me wooden desk downstairs and the lower-and-better-for-me black desk upstairs. I insisted that we move very, very slowly as the exchange took place via the Aztec Stairs of Doom. The stairs are so dangerous that I’m thinking of giving them a blood sacrifice to ward off any injury in the coming year. I suspect that in reality, because I’m so incredibly careful with them, I’ll probably never get hurt, but still. The wide plaster area where you can easily bang your head going down is worth a dab of blood alone.
I can’t wait for the ankle to be healed completely so that I can run around some more. It’s frustrating just sitting in this room with it up in the air. It’s one thing when I’m writing, but another when I want to go get some exercise. I’m really wrestless this morning and I need some air.
Tomorrow, I meet The Frenchman’s parents. ::le gulp::