I sit on the sofa in front of the laptop staring at the screen, hands in my lap. Every once in a while I pick at a cuticle. I want to continue working on the memoir's pitch, the agent query letter, but I've hit a snag. I see some changes I want to make in the book but I should stick with the query, not get sidetracked. The mice are still here in the trailer. I should clean more cabinets, maybe bring in the live trap. My cup of coffee is nearly empty; I should brush my teeth. I'm distracted by my sister's photos on facebook. Maybe if I walked on the beach, something would sort itself out. But is it already too hot? At least the humidity is less because of a storm that moved in last night. I worried about two friends who went nighttime squid fishing. I assumed they would seek shelter on Turner Island but you never know. Sometimes these things sneak up on you. I dreamt about them. I still wander in that dreamspace even though it's nearing noon. The guys showed up about 8 this morning, safe. I've had no income for nearly two months. What will I do about that? Even with the internet it's difficult to find work from Mexico. There are forms that need to be signed, mailed back...
I feel stuck.
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