I am packing for this week's sojourn to the Ladycollege. This trip is a semi-pain-in-the-ass because I will be staying in a campus house and that means I have to bring my own sheets and towels. The college provides a thin white sheet and a manky old tan blanket that screams "barracks," so I am bringing my own from home. So as I was rooting around trying to find the freshest-smelling towel to use in the communal bathroom this week, the mail came and lo and behold I got another moneygrab letter from the Ladycollege Fund. I ripped it open, sort-of hoping it was another doucheworthy diatribe from the previously-mentioned Megan Douchebag '07. I am without my car this afternoon (it's at the car hospital) so I was thinking maybe another Megan-bashing blog entry would make me feel productive or at least not focused so heavily on the BREAKING OF MY CHEST IN THREE WEEKS.
Sadly, it's from the respectable Karen B., who is an alum of my era and someone who I've met. She's been out in the world so she knows how to write a development letter. So instead I have had to fill my afternoon with thinking about my chest. My bowly bowl.
At plotties this morning, I had an achy pain in the heart region, which subsided quite rapidly. I was worried that I was having an aortic episode that required horspitalization, but I finished the class and feel fine. It was just another reminder that I need the surgery, that I can't go on being a salsa bowl for much longer. ALTHOUGH...last weekend it was brought to my attention that I totally could have worked as a naked sushi serving platter, and my bowl could have held the soy sauce. I MISSED MY MOMENT. Of course, that job would have required strategic waxing and weight loss. I look like I've had more than my share of sushi when the clothes are off.
THE NOVEL IS NOW JUST OVER 80,000 WORDS. The query letter is killing me. I am hoping Elinor helps me make a log line. There is so much at work in this novel.
"Brother and sister return to hometown to collect inheritance and get swept into organized crime plot to extort money from their cruel, sadistic grandmother." But with DIY knitting and Armenians.
Okay, never mind.