Foiled. Foiled, foiled, foiled, gods damn this ruddy printer.
It can join the computer Skippy intends to launch out a window as soon as he has a complete operative system. It will be incredibly therapeutic to throw it and watch it smash into a jillion pieces on the pavement below. It will be just as useful as a pile of bits as it is now, whole, silent, unmoving, and entirely a waste of space.
I’m now officially in the market for a new printer.
And speaking of novels involving ferrets, my dad sent me this Robert Bateman jpg yesterday:
At the NaNo wrap party I realised that thanks to my NaNo research, I knew more about ferrets than my writer-type colleagues. There was something vaguely embarrassing about the discovery.
Twelve days after The End of November, I awoke with a strange desire to read Balsamic Moon. So I’m about to do a quick spell-check, go out to pick up a new ink cartridge, then print out a draft.
Before I do, however, I must put a CD on. CBC Radio Two was originally playing some kick-ass Mozart. Now they’re playing sappy choir carols. I’m so not in the mood for this today.