Random Words… Thursday

SORRY, I’ve been pretending I know stuff about self-publishing and social media.

Oh, and beating my head on desks while I work on news stories that had Walkley potential (okay, maybe Qld Media Awards potential), but was instead was sort of smooshed into high-school essay waffle. Can I just say “bombs”? Would that give too much away? Probably. Oh well. Journalism 101 – any story about bombs should probably have the word bombs in the very first line. Not At The End.

I’ve been trying to find a place to stay in Gladstone (accommodation prices, Lordy! Anyone would think I was on a miner’s wage! Hello BP? Want to foot my bill?) for my upcoming book signing there.

And what else? Oh yes…

Minding the Limpet and the Lion (apt descriptions of my cling-on daughter and her rambunctious brother).

Trying to agree on a cease-fire with my husband over who’s responsible for what on the nights I’m working from home. (We’ve decided that we love each other and the rest of the chaos will be coaxed into submission somehow!)

Getting up to the kids’ unrelenting sleep-deprivation torture tactics. In a direct revolt against the peace treaty between my husband and I, the kids were HORRIBLE last night. Waking up every 15 minutes or so.

Fixing the internet. Nothing makes me more GGGRRRRR than when the internet won’t work. And it’s ALWAYS on days I have to work and after the nights when I’ve had no sleep so am bound to unleash my fury on some poor unsuspecting AAPT lady (who says her name’s Jane, when you know it’s something like Rajeesh).

There are pluses though. My kids are playing nicely together today, using their chalk as Easter eggs and having an egg hunt in the yard. I ate FOUR chocolate croissants (because I’m entitled!) but I won’t disclose how many glazed donuts the kids and I ate, because the fact I ate four croissants and THEN any number of donuts is admission enough.

 I stumbled across a lovely little get-together of Mummy Bloggers yesterday and got to pretend I was having a “social event” that wasn’t in a park or McDonalds.

And now I must go and work (which much as I complain, I do love) and rescue my daughter who apparently “NEEDS WATER” like she’s in the Sahara and not our backyard.



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