Dear Self,
Eight. Thirteen. See the difference? Please note that someone who is the latter should not act like the former. Now go back, re-work about six chapters, and fix this thing.
But go easy, mmkay? It is Tuesday, after all.
No real love, but a bit of lenience,
Me
***
Dear Self,
It's Tuesday. You know what that means. No running out to get yarn (never mind your pile of knitting waiting to be finished--on deadline, I might add). You need to eat some breakfast, but go easy. The last thing you need is to play Vomit Cannon in the living room. Crowley is much better at it, and he's cute enough to get away with it. (Especially when you're in the middle of saying, "How did they ever fit so much handsome into one cat?" Seriously, where is a video camera when you need one?)
You know full well you're exhausted. Now go and rest. Keep the yoga and the eating to a minimum, since you're feeling urpy again. And please, stop laughing so hard you cry. Cat puke isn't that hilarious (okay, it is), but remember, you're the one who gets to clean it up.
GO REST!
Me
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