I'm sitting here typing this wondering where the day has gone? I woke up this morning, had breakfast and went back to bed to read, but fell asleep instead. I didn't sleep well last night due to being set upon by a gang of mosquitoes that wanted to drink my blood. When I was on methotrexate they didn't use to bite me, but since I've stopped taking a regular weekly dose of cytotoxic medication mosquitoes find me ultra delicious.
Unfortunately, I'm allergic to mosquitoes bites, and I now have eleven rather large welts on my arms and legs. I did all the things one has to do to cope when this happens. So the day has been one of washing, rubbing cream in, and then rubbing in some more, and then applying camomile lotion etc, repeat ad nauseam.
Still mustn't grumble, it could be worse.
This week I've re-written three chapters of my novel, and finished another short story called Cold Outside for submission to my writers group. My Alpha reader gives me a fifty-fifty chance of them getting it. In the process of doing this I've started working on three other short story ideas. I find working on short stories while editing my novel helps me to overcome the feeling of despair I have when I'm trying to polish the deathless prose of my earlier drafts. Well whatever works, works, right?
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