Stop pulling on my legs, I'll come out when I'm ready.

So here's what's going on. I got all gunned up to do NaBloPoMo this year thinking it would be a great way for me to tell the China trip story (albeit in stunted paragraph form) and then, on a tear, I decided to go ahead and give NaNoWriMo a whirl, too. Why not, right? So then OBVIOUSLY the writing project I was hired into TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO smugly lurches to life and adds itself to my November to-do list, so yeah. I have no doubt whatsoever that I can post every day to my blog, pound out a 50,000 word novel AND satisfy the legal bindings of my contractural writing agreement. It's such a non-issue I don't even think we should talk about it anymore. Ever. Again. Seriously, don't bring it up.

I turned thirty-five in October and that went about the way you think it went. If you're under thirty-five you're no doubt imagining a huge drunken blowout, and if you're over thirty-five you're pursing your lips and shaking your head because you know full well I spent the entire day crying under the bed. Turns out you're both right because as it happens I can drink and cry and hide all at the same time. It's a life skill. If you're thirty-four you wouldn't understand.