Cat on lap

I'm kittied in at the moment. I have plans to work on the tower for the Rapunzel puppet show, but I can't move. Joe Fish is curled up comfortably on my lap. Yes, I could get up, but if I do, he'll take the chair and it will be difficult to get it back.

So maybe I need to do some other work here at the computer.

I could do my Quicken accounts, which I haven't looked at in far too long, but that requires getting up to get my checkbook and I don't really want to.

I could work on the pieces of "Blood, guts, spies and fat naked ladies" that need shaping. My friend Joyce Slater came over yesterday and helped me immensely on this piece. I'm at the top of the waiting list to tell it at the National Storytelling Concert in the Lyceum performance (why did they change that from "fringe"?). While I don't wish anybody ill, I hope the next person on the list decides not to come, or maybe decides they aren't ready to tell.

I could work on my novel, which has been undisturbed for months, until this morning when I wrote a little bit that might fit in. I remembered that I really like the characters in it. I cried when one of them died. Writing the first draft as part of nanowrimo was really fun, but now I'm at the point of editing and rewriting the next draft. It's teeeeeeeediiiiiioooooouuuuussssss.

I could write some e-mails, catching up on some old stuff. I could write a draft of a letter to a Bulgarian folklorist, in response to her letter of several months ago.

Or I could play another round of Spider solitaire, to which I am unfortunately addicted. Again.