Sometimes I think I’m still pregnant- because hormones and mood swings- and then I just realize I’m a basket case.
For example, I had to reedit my book with some changed names and details to protect a few people in it and then KDP publishing said something about material being available on the web already and if I didn’t take the right actions it would be taken down so I responded by going through proper steps to assure proper copyright claims but then while waiting I deleted (and don’t worry, undeleted) all of my blog posts the book was based on and fretted all night- sleeplessly- about my book. Point is I’m a basket case.
Also my dog Duke tried to carry the carcass of what looked like a rotting dead dinosaur into the house, and a giant black spider was found dancing the tango under my bed. Dakota did her daily morning ritual of screaming and shrieking with joy at being alive, to which Charley turned on “Happy Feet”. Turns out a little entertainment goes a long way.
Charley still doesn’t feel like he has to work or that when he does work parttime for people that he should be able to pocket he money but he’s learning a little, like he hasn’t run off again (yet) and he’s not drunk right now and he’s going to buy some sandwich food from some yard work.
Meanwhile, Ivanka Trump had a ghostwriter’s words and some plagiarized material from inspirational people like Jane Goodall thrown into a book for working women and will now make millions off of something she spent less time on than it takes to eat a taco bowl. She is her father’s daughter.
My daughter is my husband’s daughter. She’s unpredictable and beautiful. I love her very much and I’m glad my book is just fine and I just need more NyQuil and some plastic bags for miniature dinosaur carcasses.p