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It’s been a very long day, so here’s a random photo from my iPhoto library.

I have a planet named after me.

Well, okay, it’s not a REAL planet.  And there’s a possibility it’s not named after me specifically. 

But I think the odds are pretty good…

I’m having a little work done on my house this week.  Part of it involves digging a trench alongside the house and excavating a pipe for the purpose of improving the waterproofing for my basement.  (I haven’t had a water problem, and I intend to keep it that way.)  

Overall, the work seems to be going well.  Loren, the contractor, is fantastic and very efficient.  And up until yesterday afternoon, there were no big surprises, just the usual quirks of New Mexico construction:  “Hmm, that pipe isn’t on any of the drawings.  Wonder who put it there, and why.”  Which is pretty much par for the course in these parts.

But then, yesterday afternoon, he sent me a cryptic message.

I suppose that would be when the finish line keeps moving away from you.

It’s a question much on my mind lately as I have found myself just about up to my eyebrows in work, with no strong sense of how or when I’ll escape.  Granted, musings on the state of my workload do tend to veer into the mildly apocalyptic when I’m at the nadir of the sleeplessness cycle… but I’ve been aware of a gradual increase in my work-related stress level the past couple of weeks. 

Both day-job work and writing work.  Sometimes they do not play nicely together.

“So there I was…”