Danger, Will Robinson.
It’s been over eight months since my last foray into the bowels of the Costco warehouse. Today I, along with Poppet (wearing her seatbelt in the backseat), set off to do some major bulk shopping. Poppet waited patiently in the car while I went inside to spend a fortune on TP and paper towels and dishwasher detergent and pop and bottled water and soups and chili and lotions and bath soaps and gels and batteries and canned fruits and vegetables, etc. Up and down the aisles I went with two shopping baskets. I don’t know how long I was in there. A long time. So I get up to the check out and unload those two baskets. When I get up to the clerk, she looks at me and asks, “How often do you shop like this?” I say, “Oh, about every 8 to 9 months.” She says, “Do you live out of town?” “No,” I answer, “we just don’t like to shop often so we do it all at once.”
I always try to guess how much the total will be. I was too low this time. I’m still gasping as I type this. Breathe, Robin. Breathe. However, if I divide it up over the next eight or nine months, it really isn’t all that much of our grocery budget.
Rewrites of LL are running a bit behind at this moment. Man, oh man. This book was in sad, sad shape. It isn’t just what I need to add and subtract, scene-wise and plot-wise. It’s cleaning up the prose one word, one comma, at a time. There is so much red ink on these pages it looks like a murder took place in my office. Ack!
Design pages for Veterans Way arrived yesterday so I plan to spend Sunday afternoon proofing them. Church in the morning, then a birthday brunch for Granddaughter #1 (she turns 12 next week), and finally proofing the novella manuscript.
The hurrier I go, the behinder I get.