The Joys of Household Drudgery

Funny title, maybe, but hopefully it'll make sense in the end.

Lately, the big chore is editing the book. It seems to be going well, but it's hard to tell. Five chapters are edited, which puts me on (or even just a touch ahead of) schedule. As I've said before, it's a project that matters so much to me that I get dry-mouthed at the prospect of screwing it up. It can be a tough balance to strike - I want the pure fans to look a little deeper within the text and I want the ivory tower residents to respect the text in the first place. I guess what I'm really trying to do is increase the number of us who can walk with pleasure on both sides of the fence.

On top of that, life in general continues. Some things just pile up no matter what else is on the plate, so the trick is to find ways to enjoy those chores. Spooky always needs to be walked (and told repeatedly what a pretty, pretty girl she is!), bills have to be paid, laundry needs to be done, et repetitive cetera. And today was one of those odd days where a lot of little things came together, which is always nice, probably because it happens so seldom. Sort of like a planetary alignment - there's a lot of work behind the scenes for a neat, cool, keen little blaze of lights in the sky that lasts for just a brief period of time.

So what kinds of things are we talking about here? Well, I've been buying books lately (not work related; fun stuff like How to Be a Villain, which a few people would claim I don't need to read, but we shall speak no more of these individuals) and finally got things shelved. I did some cleaning to keep the Board of Health at bay for another few weeks. I also got my ironing basket empty (an event that truly takes effort, but I've discovered pressing cuffs and collars is much easier with Doctor Who playing in the background). Further, a celebratory Indian dinner is simmering away on the stove, filling the air with the scent of curry and jasmine rice.

Sniffff. Hmmmm. I think I need to go now - dinner won't eat itself. And it certainly won't enjoy it; that's only in Douglas Adams.