Wherein Jack did things.
I've been looking for a desk. All over town. But town doesn't have things like desks. Because town was built for tourists, and tourists don't need desks.
But Authors do.
Because it is hard to edit sitting on the floor.
Not that I always sit at a desk. Usually I migrate. From the desk, to my bed, to the floor, to the counters while I make meals, and back to the desk. Rinse and repeat.
Because it is hard to sit still while you are editing and yelling at characters and crying over characters and wondering why you bothered to write books and ponder tossing it out the window.
So finally I ordered a desk off line. Because I found a nice little one which didn't cost a fortune. The only problem was I had to put it together myself. And usually that ends badly. I am not mechanically inclined. In any way or form.
I attempted it this morning. And somehow it didn't fall to pieces on me. I am kind of impressed with myself, but I believe my sonic screw driver might be partly to thank for that.
And the point to this post is...nothing. Because there is no point. I am just killing time while I wait for my edits to come back to me. that way I can feel like a real Author. Instead of an email stalker.
Do I have a song for today?
No, not really.
Because I want to go to sleep and don't want to go and try to find one. Because sleep.
Quote is from the 12th Doctor.