The cat appears to have had a fine night of rearranging me last night, judging by the glitterballs on my pillow and the kink in my neck. Thank god she's an indoor cat, so I get glitterballs rather than bits of vole. It's a mark of esteem, really. As is her current parade along the back of the couch singing arias and rubbing against my neck.
The good news is, climbing with the Jeff tonight after all, and if I can get enough work done, I may go down a little early and work on a bouldering problem. Of course, I am signally failing to get that work done currently. I claim it's because I'm waiting to figure out whose POV this next scene should be in. I got ~2400 words of "Smoke & Mirrors" yesterday, though, putting the total word count at 17,777 (isn't that cute? I didn't even do that on purpose.) which means that I've gotten four days in a row of at least two thousand words. That makes me feel good, and also like my writer-brain is functioning properly again.
I expect I will finish this thing, in draft at least, by Monday. I have the Awful Troof to write, and then the Climactic Space-Battle and the Earth-Shattering Kaboom.
Remnants of TS Hanna are expected to come through over the weekend, bringing rain and cooler temperatures; this will work out well for the running schedule. (I like running in the rain; my bulky heat-retaining northern European/Slavic body likes external cooling.)
Yesterday's only exercise was archery, at which I stank; I let my blood sugar get a little too low and was having stability problems. Including a moment of epic fail where I let my release slip while still drawing and put an arrow into the sheetrock eight feet off the floor. Le sigh. Fortunately, we were on the walk-up range, so I did not have to do the Walk Of Shame in front of the crowd over on the automatic range.
Of course, then I can come on the internets and tell six thousand of my closest friends all about it.
Right. Time to get this scene written and also drink some tea.