I feel compelled to actually say something.

I've been attempting, for the last week, to write a novel. I am over 9,000 words behind my quota, and here I am being emotional over the death of one of my characters.

Also, hello to my new readers. :D The ones I know about will have a label on my visit-tracker-thingy in a jiffy. I need to get writing again. I actually have to start being productive, because I'm fat now and I feel intimidated by my siblings' constant displays of awesomeness.

Today I felt like I had to get working. I thought (I'm not saying I'm going to) of creating a schedule for my "novel" and french lessons, but I've yet to see the patterns of work and quality time, not to mention living arrangements I have this semester.

Where I am now, as I "write" my "novel" is in no way conducive to what I'm supposed to be doing.

 Hello Kwago

And so you see, I am not being productive, I am laying in a messy room, blogging from the shame of my apiary being empty for so long. I haven't told you about my honeycomb (okay that just made me barf inside but I'm using it for consistency of metaphors) and I will soon, once I'm settled down with schedules and tasks and my motherly responsibilities (no I am not prego, I'm lady-head of this household and I manage food and bills and all that jazz..more on that soon)

I just lost my train of thought, so I'll be back soon. Soon? I hope..?