I just realized I posted twice on 3 November. A strange part of me feels cheated. I could've saved one, held it in reserve for the day when I have no time and no brain cells left to compose something even vaguely legible and interesting.
Or I could just bitch about it and thereby have a built-in topic to warble about for a few paragraphs and satisfy the day's requirement.
What would Dickens do? What would Proust do?
Heh. They were both men. They actually had time to write and synapses nicely firing due to adequate sleep and regular meals.
Besides. Dickens got paid by the word. I can only imagine the stuff I could crank out if I got paid by the word. Or paid at all.
I promise there will be actually interesting content here soon. What with teething woes, sleep strikes, sentient laundry piles and battling felines, I'm a distracted little mess these days.
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