Jul 222018

I woke up early after excellent sleep.

Choked down my thyroid medication with awful tasting water. You see, some dumb person dumped a truckload of waste on a field in the water protection area around here which means there might be nasty bacteria in the water coming out of our faucets. So they started putting chlorine in as a precaution. It isn’t much and you barely smell it but drinking tap water has stopped being fun.

This thing will go on for four more weeks. Our water filter that we use for making tea does filter the chlorine out but the water tastes funny when not boiled. Maybe I’ll try boiling the water I drink in the morning first.

I did manage to go for my run. I’m still walking a lot but did walk/run a little more than 11 kilometers:

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The big field is starting to look a bit weird. I’m hoping that there won’t be construction on there.

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It was raining, hence the hat and ugly coat.

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The fences are new.

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Also around the small chapel.

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Why yes, it was wet and muddy.

I came back home where I realized that I had forgotten my key but my husband was already home and in the kitchen so knocking on the window made him open the door for me.

We cooked, both rather hungry and exhausted:

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Rice, chickpea curry, spinach and chicken. It was all very good.

Then I finally took a shower and plonked down in fron of TV for spinning and watching the Tour. As usual there was more watching than spinning but I did make tiny progress. I even finished a cob and started fresh:

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The rest of the day I spent procrastinating about doing the dishes and procrastinating about writing. I am a master procrastinator by now. I did buy yet another book about writing a novel in thirty days but unfortunately that didn’t make new words magically appear.

I did manage to write some, though. I told myself I could have a beer if I sat down and wrote so that worked. The boy came home around ten so I did go to bed slightly late.

I’m still aspiring to get back to writing first thing in the morning. I never felt better than that time last year when I got up at five and did just that. Going to bed around eight is rather early, though, and doesn’t really mesh with the rest of the world. Especially when you have a husband and son who are rather active in the evenings. And particularly when you have a husband who tends to practice drums and electric guitar right underneath the bedroom between 8.30 and 9.30 pm.

Something needs to change, though, because not writing is no fun at all.

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