Gather around for today’s life lesson.

Last Thanksgiving I got it into my head that I wanted a fresh turkey, so we bought Bob. But we also had a coupon for a free turkey from the supermarket, and free food is free food, so we also picked up Ralph, a beautiful 16 lb Butterball frozen turkey, and threw him in the freezer.

Ralph has been monopolizing the freezer ever since, so last weekend after playing post-food-shopping-Tetris, I declared that Ralph’s time had come, and we stuck him in the fridge to defrost.

Ralph is currently roasting in my oven. Mmmmmm. I’m having turkey sandwiches all week :)

Which means I have about an hour to clean the whole house, because my sister, and Mike and Steen and the baby, are all coming over to dispose of Ralph.

Which means I’m really regretting that while trying to move the cactus a few minutes ago I dropped it.

Today’s life lesson: never try to catch a falling cactus.

Sooo tired.

So let’s see, since the last update, I’ve:

  • put together the compound mitre saw only to discover that it doesn’t run. Still have to investigate that.
  • baked a total of five pies and four custards, two of which have already been eaten by the crowd at work
  • painted the baseboard
  • wrote around 6,000 words in the novel, leaving me with only 22,000 or so to go
  • procured Bob. Bob is this year’s turkey. Bob is sitting on the bottom of the fridge sulking at the moment.
  • gotten way too little sleep.
  • locked myself out of the house this morning such that I had to wait for my husband to drive home from work and unlock the door so I could get my keys, so that going to work was even an option
  • been damn cold, probably because of all the unexpected outside time today
  • decided to go to bed early.

It’s not looking likely that I’m going to succeed at NaNoWriMo. That isn’t to say that I’ve given up, but with just over a week to write just under the allotted word count, and totally knowing that I’m too tired tonight and too busy Wednesday and Thursday, it’ll be one hell of a challenge. But then, only 6,000 of the 42,000 people who tried last year succeeded, and I’ve already written well more than I have on any other piece of fiction I’ve written ever, so I’m not going to kill myself either.