Last night, I faced the tragic truth I’d have to shop when I found my green apple dish soap was completely gone, and yep, no back up bottle. Forced myself to leave dishes in sink, not use laundry soap.
Went to grocery store after work.
Got home. Unpacked. Had forgotten soap. Swore. Went to garage to store case of water.
Found two boxes. Heart stopped. Cell rang. Dad had tractor crisis, needed ride home.
Debated opening boxes. Didn’t. Ran Dad home.
Came back. Held my first print book with my name on it. Sat down for a private moment with the Logan twins. Thought, I wrote that? Interesting. Maybe I’m possessed.
Time froze. Don’t know how long, until I realized I hadn’t stolen dish soap from parents.
Went to nephew's. Not home. Debated breaking in. Didn't. Left copy of Ashes for nephew's girlfriend propped against door.
Drove to friend’s home near my parent’s house. Said sorry for disappearing at her daughter’s wedding the other day and popping home to edit 40-50 pages of a beta read for a crit partner. Put a copy of Ashes in her hands, made her smell the scent of a freshly made print, and to swear not to let her mom read it. Forgot to steal her dish soap, but remembered to take cookies.
Went to parent’s, left copy of Ashes and told them not to read it. (blush) Took their dish soap and went home. Sat down with the twins. Thought, I did write that.
It’s been a good night.