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A lot of hard, fast work. Wibby and I usually get along great, but today we jumped down each other's throats over a misunderstanding - we're all snappish from being overworked. We made it up, though, and were both all, "I'm so sorry!"
I actually put a letter to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
afrai into an envelope, today. It'll probably need extra postage because I took 3 weeks to write it, it's 13 pages on drawing paper (why couldn't I have used airmail paper?) and so weighs about fourteen pounds. I almost might as well mail her a couple of rocks while I'm at it. (Have I ever mentioned that rocks are one of the favorite mementos the tourists take away? We don't mind all that much, Maine has lots of extra rocks. But sometimes they take cobbles from our streets. And the beach sand - we don't have that much actual sand, we wish they'd leave some for us to enjoy.) Now I have to go look for her summer address...
And in random bizarrness: As I was falling asleep last night I had this weird inspiration about writing a Gilligan's Island fanfic. It would be placed a couple/few years after they are rescued from the island, after most of them have gone their seperate ways. Gilligan, Maryanne and the Professor would be living together in a rambling old farmhouse outside the small Southern town where the Professor has a job teaching high school science. Then my wandering mind started borrowing from any number of weird horror/crime stories - their farmhouse is invaded by desperate criminals, perhaps escaped convicts, and Maryanne puts a hatchet into the back of some dude's head because he's strangling Gilligan.
What odd odd things I do think of as I'm falling asleep.
I actually put a letter to
afrai into an envelope, today. It'll probably need extra postage because I took 3 weeks to write it, it's 13 pages on drawing paper (why couldn't I have used airmail paper?) and so weighs about fourteen pounds. I almost might as well mail her a couple of rocks while I'm at it. (Have I ever mentioned that rocks are one of the favorite mementos the tourists take away? We don't mind all that much, Maine has lots of extra rocks. But sometimes they take cobbles from our streets. And the beach sand - we don't have that much actual sand, we wish they'd leave some for us to enjoy.) Now I have to go look for her summer address...And in random bizarrness: As I was falling asleep last night I had this weird inspiration about writing a Gilligan's Island fanfic. It would be placed a couple/few years after they are rescued from the island, after most of them have gone their seperate ways. Gilligan, Maryanne and the Professor would be living together in a rambling old farmhouse outside the small Southern town where the Professor has a job teaching high school science. Then my wandering mind started borrowing from any number of weird horror/crime stories - their farmhouse is invaded by desperate criminals, perhaps escaped convicts, and Maryanne puts a hatchet into the back of some dude's head because he's strangling Gilligan.
What odd odd things I do think of as I'm falling asleep.
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You're sweet, thanks. :)