The Orange Cat

The other night, I dreamed that the Butcher, the orange cat, and I had to go to K-Mart to get a Halloween pumpkin Reese’s Peanut Butter, um, thingy. Pumpkin. Just one. I don’t know what we needed it for, but we did. But the asshole orange cat kept putting white chocolate Reese’s peanut butter cups on the conveyor belt, like he was trying to wipe the store out of them.

And then I woke up and found out those really are a thing–white chocolate Reese’s peanut butter cups.

And thus I was grossed the fuck out.

The New Afghan May Be Salvagable

I think the trick is going to be adding borders until it’s the right size. It is really pretty, but I’ll have to take a picture of the back and show you guys how hilarious it is. I mean, you all know how much I hate to tuck ends and I have made an afghan that requires tucking at the end of every single row.

I’m going to make an afghan for the Red-Headed Kid next. Fittingly, he wants it to be red.

I finished entering corrections into the manuscript. I’m going to give it  read-through when I have some quiet time and then send it to nm. I have–as you’ve probably noticed–really mixed feelings. When I’m reading the manuscript, I feel caught up in it, like, yes, this works. But when I’m just thinking about it, all I can do is fret and feel like it doesn’t, in some fundamental way, work. It may be that I’m just not there yet. I might not yet be the writer who can write that book.

But I don’t know. Maybe, also, I’m looking for an excuse to chicken out because the next part–sending it out to try to find an agent and getting rejected over and over and over again sucks so bad.

I think I may have managed to salvage the cooking pot of my grandmother’s I thought I ruined by burning beef stew in it. But I took oven cleaner to it last night and it seems to have finally gotten the carbon off the bottom.

Oh, and this will be exciting. My dad is planning on him and my mom going to Thanksgiving down at my brother’s. He doesn’t think that the Butcher and I can come, because they don’t have a table. So, the questions this raises are as follows. 1. Does my dad not realize that my brother is going to try to sucker him into getting my youngest nephew in North Carolina and bringing him down? 2. How much do you want to bet that he has NOT said that out-loud to my mom, because you know she would throw a fit at the idea of us not being made welcome at Thanksgiving? 3. How long between that phone call and another phone call in which my dad, having endured the “What the fuck”ing of my mom, makes plans for us to join them on Thanksgiving? 4. Do we want to join them? I don’t know. I do want to see that baby, though. And I don’t get to see my nephews often enough. And what are the holidays for if not being too cramped in inadequate places while people fight?