Oh my god I’m hot. Really hot. Someone get me a lake to jump into. I don’t care if it’s the Ganges, I don’t care about the smell, I’m melting, swimming in sweat because a regular running regime means all my pores are open and fully operational. Africa was this hot but at least I was constantly moving, distracted, fanning myself while shooing away Tse Tse flies. Here I’m writing and all I can think about is how much I need a bath and whether the beads of sweat dropping between my breasts are going to create an embarrassing watermark in the crease below them. I look around. Am I the only one? Typical.
For the last few weeks I’ve been working on a novella. Still on chapter one. I know they say to write the first draft, just get through it, but really HOW can I continuing writing when what I’ve penned already is uninspiring or at best I've come up with an awesome idea I'm afraid of loosing to heat stroke. People who think writing is easy are people who are not good at it.
So it’s a fight to keep myself in the seat. I’m sumo wrestle Stobby who’d rather hang out in the park and pet stray dogs. I have 82 moves. Don’t believe me? I’m going to post one here everyday.
|black panties winner|
white panties loser
UPDATE: My alert husband has just informed me that I could be violating copyright by sharing all my sumo moves so I'm going to nix this idea. I will instead share my dance moves but really, to do justice, you need to see them in person.