Beep, beep. Beep, beep.

It was a weird week. But then, weird weeks are becoming quite frequent events around here. I finished my pen-for-hire assignment at 11 a.m. on Tuesday. It was due Tuesday afternoon. Nope, I'm not a slacker, my client always has last minute stuff to add. The weird thing about these writing projects is that I never see the final product. I send the parts that I write and edit to my client by email, more sections are added by the architect, and other folks. The resulting document is sent to a typist who does all the special formatting (yay for that) and then it is copied and distributed to the relevant decision-makers. Sometime in the future, I may learn the result.

I had hoped not to worry about plumbing for quite some time, because I have already made a big money sacrifice to appease the plumbing gods. However my kitchen sink had a go-slow tantrum. An application of Drano and dire threats have forced it to behave but I won't turn my back on it, lest it decide to spit at me. This was also the week I decided to wash the bathroom walls and ceiling and my arms have not forgiven me yet.

The Tim Horton's outlet, which is less than two blocks from my apartment has signs up that say Cold Stone Creamery Ice Cream. It's not in the store yet. It wasn't there yesterday - they told me it would be in today - and it isn't there. This is unfair. I want the right to go in there and see the ice cream and then not buy any. It would preserve my record for the week. I went to the mall yesterday. I seldom do that but I wanted to find slippers for The Bear, of course I was not successful. People may be getting larger, but it appears footwear isn't. Where are the size 12-13's? Nowhere. About 120 percent of the time, mall stores don't have what I want.

In between these events, and when I'm not dreaming about plumbing taking revenge, my bedtime reading is Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel, the historical novel that won the Man Booker prize in 2009. It's a wonderful fat book -with no calories attached.

And, somewhere in the back of my mind, my little Nash Rambler fiction car is very quietly going - Beep beep. Beep beep. Now if real life would kindly stop making a ruckus, and blocking the road..... the Muse might arrive.