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On Monday morning I had a plan for the week. “I will take thirty minutes a day, right around lunch hour, to do something for myself.” Quite specifically, that “something” was to be resurrecting my work on the Ronald manuscript. A couple weeks ago I’d printed out the manuscript-in-progress. My first order of business? Getting familiar with the story again. I’d written up three chapters and had started on the fourth, but too much time had passed and I really couldn’t go any further without reacquainting myself with the material.

The first time I set aside a little time to read it, all I ended up with was this Tweet:


I’m sure it was just the wrong time of day. So this week, with some of the pressure at work coming back to normal levels, I thought I would start over.

And so at half past noon on Monday, I refilled my tea, popped open my backpack, and pulled out my . . . where is it? Where’s my printout? I shuffled through my backpack in the same exaggerated way you see in television or film.

Rats. Not there.

Tuesday. Half past noon. “Damn it!” I forgot to look for it at home. Not that it mattered. The pressure level at work was rising again and I didn’t have a half hour to myself anyway.

Wednesday. Nope.

Thursday. Nope again. No manuscript and also no time.

Thursday night. Printed out a new copy.



Today is Friday. I’ll give this another shot. I’m hopeful — I’m always hopeful — but if I were a bettin’ man, I’d put my money on “rats, nope, and no time.”

But on the upside, it’s pizza night! So either way, I win.

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