It is 11:20 pm. I’ve just come back from a writing group with friends I’ve known since I participated in the John Rechy Master class. A good evening filled with talk of the woes in the publishing industry, the merit of self-publishing, along with critique of novels-in-progress. I like my writing friends. We’re cut from the same cloth.
Right now, I am back home with a hum-dinger of a headache. I didn’t eat dinner and need to head into the kitchen and get some food. I think that’s the reason why my head hurts, or it could be the hot weather here in a city with pollution. Probably more that, come to think of it.
Ray cut his hand this afternoon. He came into the living room with blood all over his shirt. He had already bandaged it up, I think because he was afraid I would insist he go have stitches. He’s in pain now, though. His hand aches.
This is short and sweet tonight. I want to honor my 20 minute commitment so here I am. But now, I’m headed off to the kitchen, then back upstairs to see about my husband.
Night, you all.