I owe agent Kate a proposal and essay. I can't get my shit together. I was curled in a ball periodically crying for my whole long weekend in frustration. I've never been this frozen in my whole life. And I'm working with the essay on the motivational speaker with the rock. That's my sort of bread-and-butter Practically Writes Itself essay. And I'm frozen.

I have to tell Kate I'm not getting there. I missed the deadline. I'm fucked. And all I want to do is go into bed and bawl like a moron.

Drabble?

Ugh Allyson, I'm sorry it's been such a slog of a weekend, and that you missed the deadline. I have been there. You are my hero you know for getting yourself an agent and getting published. I am so very far behind you. I'm too scared to even try. You are putting yourself out there, which is amazing.

Allyson, it's not a publication deadline. If it didn't work to keep you on track, try something else. Send her a paragraph a day or something, if she's willing.

Gah, Allyson. I'm so sorry.

In other news, it's not even 7:00. So why does it feel like 11-freaking-p.m.?

I am powering through my to-do list today: I have done the dishes, done laundry, made fruitcake, groomed the dog, vacuumed the house, finished reading my book club book, and now I have just spent half an hour on my hands and knees scrubbing the grout between the kitchen floor tiles. My white ceramic tile floor is not supposed to look like a tic-tac-toe board.

Now I get to pay a bill and hang for an hour before going climbing. Go me.

Unfortunately, my mop fell apart so I shall have to buy a new one this week. Bah.

Shit! There are actual newsreels of Epee duels in France up on YouTube. Like, this one from 1911.

And you've got to love the cause of the duel:

November 1911. French. Silent. Yet another duel between journalists over coverage of Marie Curie. Pierre Mortier was a writer for "Gil Blas." Gustave Tery wrote for "L'Oeuvre." Mortier was wounded in the arm by Tery.

For the honor of Marie Curie! It seems like there should be a Hark! A Vagrant! about this.

Breathe, Allyson. You can do this.

Consuela, I am seriously impressed.

What do you use on the grout, Consuela? I need to do more scrubbing.

Gold star, Theo!

And Allyson, while not the words you were looking for, maybe, you have just written some excellent words here, so.

Where's that from, Tom? I usually like to include a source link.

I have water oaks, which are "tardily deciduous" and semi-evergreen in the South. This means they lose their small, unrakeable and possibly evil leaves from September to March.

I am terribly sorry.

Somewhat relatedly, my mother just told me she wants to sell their house and move into an apartment and, I quote, "live the life of Riley." Booooo.

Jesse, my mom says that all the time too. Then she remembers that she and my dad bought the house from my grandparents, and when the grandparents moved to Big Bear, they didn't exactly take everything. Nor did my aunt when she got married. And really? Neither have my brother or I so there's lots of stuff.

I dread having to clean out the garage, let alone the whole house. Especially since I have spent the last year cleaning out my MIL's house and we are only about 1/2 done.