Crap. Crap on a crap cracker. My routine has been lethally injected and I've yet to break the spine on a book in the past 52 hours, let alone write. I'd better figure out how to make this work for me quick before my brain explodes and I just die.
So, they're here-- the parents have arrived. Some serious decompressing and pizza Friday afternoon/evening. The last Glenelg tram to Moscow on Saturday, along with a walk through the botanical gardens and Subway with Martina. Jack Daniel's; Fijian rum; Barossa port; boxed wine. Bad digital cable. Brunch compliments of Martina this morning, then a couple hours to myself in which I could do nothing but eat fairy bread and nap. Let's hope to God I get some time alone later to be productive. Wish me luck. I'll update as best as I can the next couple weeks, but I'll be much more focused on picking up the shattered pieces of my focus.
Drink Count (9/14): 6
Drink Count (9/15): 8
Drink Count (9/16): 6
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