It’s the wrong trousers! And they’ve gone wrong!

Good: I ran ten miles this morning at an average pace of 10:46. Ten miles. I am now sitting in my comfy chair with an icepack on my ankle, but this is not a bad thing. (I didn’t hurt myself; I’m just old.)

Let’s hear it for ice packs.

Basically, I kicked a whole BUNCH of ass.

Bad: I then showered and ran out to the grocery store, and about a block from home on the way back my check engine light came on and the car lost pickup dramatically. (I have an aged Honda Civic. Like most full-time writers, I drive a beater. It is, however, a beater that had never left me stranded. Good car. Biscuit.)

Good: I can rent a car to get to Saratoga Springs for the NYLA conference on Thursday, where I will be speaking with a panel of other SF authors on current trends in science fiction.

Good: A friend can give me a lift to my reading at Pandemonium in Cambridge on Saturday night. So I will also see some of you there!

Bad: Still waiting for the royalty check that would cover the car repairs.

Bad: Sorting this out has cost me a bunch of writing time that I will now have to recoup. I wanted to be done for the day by now.

Bad: Very busy week just got busier, and more writing time goes in the toilet fetching cars too and fro. Also, this will seriously cramp my style until the Moby Smurfberry is back in operational configuration.

Good: It’s a beautiful unseasonably cold day,

Good: Stash blood orange tea, in the poppy mug I bought in Ireland.

2012-11-06 14.57.48

All right, time to get some work done.

Posted: Tuesday, November 6th, 2012 @ 8:29 pm
Categories: Blog, Newscrawl, Personal, Public Appearances, Tea.
Tags: .
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One Response to “It’s the wrong trousers! And they’ve gone wrong!”

  1. WOL Says:

    As the proud owner of a 25 year old Toyota Crayola, you have my empathy. I have a slow leak in the hydraulic line to the clutch, and keep a bottle of fluid in my trunk. (When it gets too low, I can’t get it in gear or start it.) As I drove off to do my civic duty and vote Tuesday, it had started to squeak loudly every time I pushed in the clutch. Realized at the stoplight that it was the soles of my shoes squeaking on the rubber petal and sighed a tiny sigh of relief.