We've been moving into our new house. For the last week and a half, I have spent nearly every waking minute working on and moving into the house. And it feels like it'll never get done.
Luckily, I'm so busy that there are only a few minutes to even miss writing. I miss crafting stories and polishing up snappy dialogue for maximum bite. I miss finishing a story and feeling all the little peacock feathers fan out in appreciation of my own genius.
I can't even get into the room that is designated my office. Since it's not "important" to the running of the house, it is last on the list of the places to deal with. (This is my determination, not Hubby's.)
I think somewhere, in the piles of boxes that contain my office things, is my writing. My story telling ability. My mind has been strangely quiet as we've embarked on our journey into
But, after all this time, I think we're finally getting to the end. Soon, things should be much quieter in life. And hopefully much noisier in my brain.
I like being crazy... the people in my head keep my company.