So, finally, finally the revision is getting very close to being done.
Oh, not the *final* revision - but the nuts and bolts - all my ducks in a row revision.
85% there in fact.
Hallelujah!

It hasn't really been so difficult - it was just not being able to achieve as much as I normally can due to feeling tired after work - but I've stopped working now - so going great guns.

It's wonderful not to have to schlep my massive stomach into work and waddle around there trying to look/sound/be professional. I can just mess around in my pajamas, drinking tea and being happy about things in general.

Hilariously, I was banging my head on the desk wondering WHY oh WHY all those words weren't piling up to something more impressive in the page count stakes, when I realised I had the manuscript on TNR in a small size. Upped it to Courier New 12 point and voila! I was MUCH further along than I realised. Which is just as well, because I didn't have a whole lot more story to tell.

More soon as I unclog my blogbrain.

I'm a pushover for a fluffy bum. Be it a teddy or a puppy or in this case POLAR BEAR.

If I'd known just how cute a polar bear bum would be, I would've been looking out for one well before now. Giant bear, king of beasts, seal killer and .... sweet little furry tush and paws. Awwwwww!

One of the guys at work had it up on his 2008 BBC Wildlife calendar (no idea who the photographer was and google gave me nothing), and I'd giggle every time I walked past his desk. When he put the whole calendar in the recycle bin it was the highlight of my day. It just appeals to me. Look at those big paws and yet I'll swear that mighty polar bear is just paddling along. Imagine being the photographer and taking that photo - how awesome.

It's hot here today. 39 degrees. The kind of hot where concrete radiates heat for hours after sundown, where we tip ice into the evaporative cooler and pretend like it's an air conditioner, where even having a lamp on makes it unbearable, where I have a shower because I can't stand it for another second.

So there I was having my 'can't stand it' shower. Popped out, wrapped myself in a towel that felt like it had come out of a hot box. Dried my face, breathing in, as you normally do after you breathe out.

But when I breathed in, the towel smelled just like my mother.

Not my mother's perfume, and not any bad smell, but the beautiful smell that was uniquely hers and no-one elses, warm, sweet and a little bit musky. Suddenly, I'm a child laying in bed, she's bending over to kiss me goodnight and i breathe her in.

I held my breath, hoping somehow to keep it inside me, knowing it was a trick of the mind and on my next breath it would be gone. But no, it was still there when I breathed in again, and again and again. I breathed it in until I felt stupid. I miss her right now, being pregnant and not having her here to tell me it's all going to be okay, that it doesn't matter if I can't breast feed or any number of the things I'm stressing about. I'd like to say that her scent in that towel (was it me? Do i smell like her and didn't realise?) made it seem okay for just a moment, like she was there with me and always will be. But the truth is that it didn't. It just made me miss her like it all happened yesterday.

Last week - bumper week. No work, just play play play all the time.Went to the beach, sat up late reading books and eating chocolate. Walked in the sand. Made/burned some banana bread beyond recognition. Got up early early to write while everyone else slept off their red wine.

Manuscript VERY happy with the love, care and attention given to it. By the pale morning light, manuscript says 'I forgive you! we're friends again, in fact, I think i love you'.

Words, if not flow, definitely trundle along in an orderly fashion. Feel joy akin to cartwheeling along aforementioned sand. Unfortunately, massive belly prohibits cartwheeling across the sand and instead lends itself to feeling like beached whale.

Listened to a few hours of Eric Meisel talking about creativity. Felt happy that I found this FANTASTIC NEW WONDERFUL way of building a creativity practice in the new year when everything is fresh and good.

UNTIL

Fast forward to this week.Back at day job. Blerk week for the manuscript with only a trickle of words every day. Manuscript wonders where I've gone, and how I could've deserted it so quickly after we obviously connected. Feel like a heel and send manuscript some flowers and chocolate.
Silence on the other end of the line.
Lifting head off pillow seems like gargantuan task, even without red wine.

Moral of the story - go and live at the beach.

Busy week, people, in which I:

Celebrated thanksgiving a little late with Matilda and friends. We made candied yams (!). Ate so much I had to take a day off work to recover.

Continued with reviso by getting up early and tapping on the spanking new laptop. Went back to the place with aniseed flavoured coffee, promising myself I'd just have a muffin, but habit kicked in and I ordered coffee. It was STILL BAD.

Deleted scenes from book thus reducing my books page count to a dismal number that feels like ten.

Worked. If you can call it that when all I seem to do is stagger from the coffee machine to the printer to my desk and back again.

Saw the new James Bond movie. Boy flick done - next up - girl flick AUSTRALIA. Hoping it won't be lame and that all that Hugh will make up for any atrocities.

Fell in love with a new puppy, and after much internal wrangling, decided I like it's new mumma too much to pop it into my handbag.

Started my christmas shopping. I can recommend bringing TJ along on shopping expeditions because not only does he carry all the bags, he stops you dithering and forces decisions like a Major General.

BBQ today at one of TJ's favourite people's place. No-one does a BBQ like a bunch of chefs. Once again, continued the theme of eating too much.

Have belly the size of a large watermelon.

No idea how it works, but if you plug in your blog address to typealyzer, it will tell you what sort of person you are after scanning your blog.

Apparently I am the gentle/compassionate/quiet Artist. It mentioned NOTHING about my love of donuts which is obviously some kind of malfunction.

What are you??

The pot is in the bin. I think I almost made a diamond!
It was on its tenth life anyway, having survived the great scrambled eggs debacle of 2001.