I pee in the toilet more often then not, but occasionally--very occasionally--I just can't help myself and the vast, turquoise waters of the pool at my gym beckon. I do attempt a mad dash out of the pool for the bathroom, but when it's clear I won't make it, I'm grateful for my gym's chlorine practices, which are, apparently, to keep adding chlorine until levels are just shy of the chemical burn stage
I unobtrusively exfoliate my feet in the Jacuzzi. The one at my gym, not the non existent one I dream about installing in my house.
Calm down, Judgey McJudgerson. My totally valid reasons for doing this are as follows:
The water is hot and bubbly. A perfect pedicure environment.
The floor of the Jacuzzi appears to be made of pumice stone. A clear invitation.
Scraping and scrubbing my feet along the floor and sides of the Jacuzzi is cheaper than routine pedicure appointments and has the added bonus of being an implied benefit of my gym membership.
To further my goal of becoming a true Person of Walmart, I don't brush my teeth when I visit that establishment on the weekends. Oh whatever. I know you do it too, which is why you and I are involved.
I also don't shower. Fuck you and your judgments. My toenails are neatly clipped so I haven't passed the point of no return yet.
I don't like kale. Oh, the inhumanity.
After years of strict adherence to dogma, I recently put a single cube of ice in my glass of Sauvignon Blanc. If chilling your glass of wine on the fly is wrong, then I don't want to be right.
I can't write five thousand billion words in three weeks. I can't even do it in six months. I'll never be one of those indie authors who makes scads of money, has more followers than a Kardashian and a backlist to rival La Nora's. I know, I know. I suck. But I'm okay with that if you are. I have other qualities. Some of them good. I can't really name any at the moment, but trust me they're there. My dog regularly chills out like this in the crib:
I have it on good authority that this kind of display is an indication that I'm a good person with good intentions. Also exposing herself like that can loosely be translated as, my human is a good writer. Speaking of, that sequel I promised to have done this fall...yeah.
I kinda started working on this werewolf story by accident, so the 25,000 words of sequel to Undertow I have has kinda been put on hold. Not indefinite. Not by a long shot. Saras has people to kill and redemption to seek and Dragon...well, shit, she can't stay half dead forever, right?
Plus, the werewolf thing is a short story*, so I should have that done by the fall. Check it you guys, it's about a woman, recently and humiliatingly divorced, a werewolf who steals from the rich and gives to mainly himself and is set in the world of Undertow, so expect the usual concoction of weirdness, danger, magic and love AND special guest appearances.
Anyway, for those of you who were counting on that sequel in the fall, I know I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. Here, listen to this song. It describes my feelings for you more eloquently than I can. Plus, it's one of the most beautiful and poignant Prince covers I've ever heard.
*Fair warning: short is a very subjective term. For some short means brief or small or 10,000 words or a few weeks of writing. For me it means less long and whatever writing I can sneak in between 5:30 and 7:30 a.m. weekdays, at odd times during work (shhh!) and all day (ideally) on the weekends, while maintaining all the world building and character development that I love. *Shrugs* These are the ABCs of me, baby!