Oh, yes, right. The blog.

It seems altogether odd to me that I've spent so much time writing this weekend and didn't manage to post an entry here. It's not as if nothing happened. Friend was here most of the weekend and we appear to have found a lovely manner of interacting again. I was tense when she came on Halloween, though I was grateful for the company and help with corralling the dog and managing the sometimes greedy children at my door. It also gave me someone to smile at when something sweet happened.

"She said she didn't have hooves." I said of the tiny giraffe that came to the door. "Someone at the last house must have asked her where her hooves were and she wanted to tell me before I started inquiring too."

"He was dressed as Spiderman." I offered when Friend looked sympathetic upon my closing the door. "The little boy who started crying and shouted that he just wanted to go home? He was Spiderman."

It was relaxing and normal to have her here this weekend too, though I'm not used to the noises that another person makes anymore. I was convinced I was being robbed last night as she moved to and from the garage to finish washing her bedding. Chienne had jumped on the bed in the office with muddy paws and I forgot to start the dryer before falling into a deep sleep around 10 or 11 last night. I'd already set the clocks back, so I think it was actually 11. Anyway, after deciding someone was taking many of my possessions out through the garage, I made the subsequent decision to sleep through it. I realized this morning that Friend was just doing laundry.

I spent some time at work yesterday afternoon. I invited Marlie to observe an experiment, never dreaming she'd actually do so. It's miserably boring and Henry was there so I had basically asked her to suffer along with me, but she did so happily. Poor dear. Her English isn't great and she's terribly eager to please (even me and I'm nowhere near important), so I'm fretting over her. Henry exerted extreme effort to be polite to me while doing the experiment. He would finish up the preparation and reach to begin, then stop himself. I could see him strain to curve his lips into a smile then he forced the words to ask for my opinion. It made me feel badly for him, honestly. I fear he isn't meant to work with other people and hope he finds a job where he can avoid it as much as possible.

I finished some data analysis too and really need to draft an abstract today. Which means I should be looking at images and creating figures.

Yet I am - as I have been since Friday - nearly quivering with eagerness to return to my Word document that contains my book. The glimmer of an idea I had when I decided to jot something down on Thursday evening before bed has exploded into 3 female characters and their respective companions. I woke last night at 2 instead of 3 (thanks to the time change) and before I manged to get back to sleep, I had ideas for most of the middle chapters. Yet I've no idea how it's all going to end. So I feel like I'm reading a really good story and need to see what happens next except that I'm writing it all down. But the situations just flow from each other and when I finish one chapter, I already know how the next will begin so I just keep typing and typing and hours pass ever so happily.

Plus, it's a romance novel and I haven't been able to really enjoy my once beloved books in some time. But writing one feels fabulous and easy for some reason. I want to return to my characters before my parents arrive in an hour or two. Perhaps then I'll be motivated to actually do some work as they rest after the long trip. Either that or I'll sneak in a couple more chapters before bed.