I think I get it now. Deciding that I should probably start looking for a job is what has me writing like a woman possessed, isn't it? Sigh. Ah well, whatever works.
I didn't even intend to go to my studio today. I did a little Hugo House volunteer work in the morning and then I meant to go home and work on this hurricane that hit when I decided to move my writing life elsewhere. Then as I drove home it occurred to me that maybe the next paragraph needed to be about how Lindsay Lohan probably has enough shame in her life already, what with the dad who keeps getting thrown in jail and wearing black mesh tank tops on TV. So instead of doing dishes or putting away the clean laundry that's sitting on my bed, I grabbed my laptop and drove off to my writing space (which needs a name, by the way, Katherine!!). I wrote for about an hour and a half and then wandered over to the Ballard Fiorre for an iced latte, where I wrote more, and then I walked back and then I wrote more and now I'm at home and I just want to pull that story out again, I'm so in love with it.
Oh, and can anyone tell me whose car is this? My god, I love it so much. A turquoise Camaro with the license plate Bad Co? Damn, you gotta be kidding.