I feel like I should be writing. I've had Beau, the pup, for just over a week now. I'm existing on very little sleep. My life revolves around when the pup sleeps. When he sleeps I can get things done.
He's sleeping now.
And I'm not doing anything productive. My head's got that 'writer' thing going on. I can feel it. Half formed sentences and ideas keep drifting into my brain and then drifting out again. I should be working on my third novel. Or a short story. Or a poem even. I should be submitting stories to magazines or chasing things already submitted. I should be doing something.
I'm listening to the radio and getting distracted by songs that aren't even very good. I'm dancing as there's nobody home.
It's possible that I've gone a bit mad.
In other news, I went to Hampton Court Palace flower show on Sunday and someone stole my camera. I hope they're very happy with it.
Actually, I hope they take a self portrait and the camera steals their soul.