Summer, John Atkinson Grimshaw
37,547/Loose Daddy. It was a tad difficult getting out of bed this morning. The alarm shrieked at me and I spent a few seconds seriously considering choking it to death, instead I politely pushed its little button and it politely shut-up. It was 5 a.m.
In the kitchen, I discovered my Cuisinart coffee grinder’s bean basket had somehow broken its neck. I guess it choked on the last bean. Luckily, I’d kept my little Mr. Coffee grinder and it was happy to come out from the back of the cabinet and be in the shine of the kitchen light once more.
I wake up Mac in a much gentler manner than that damned clock in the bedroom, open up Loose Daddy, and wonder why the hell Tyrell won’t get his butt out of the car and into the employment office in an effortless manner. At OMG-thirty in the morning, transitions are a bitch.
Somehow, by 6:30 a.m., a whole paragraph goes down. Got to stop and get ready for the zombie run. Yay me.
Oh, last night, I finished Thomas Perry’s The Butcher’s Boy. Damn good book. Edgar winner. Do find. Do read. And I’m halfway through The Smartest Guys in the Room. I’m working my way through the TBR stack.
How ’bout that–found a John Atkinson Grimshaw that doesn’t make me think of suicide!