Saw Romeo and Juliet at the Shakespeare Tavern last night. They had a new Juliet this year, a perfectly respectable actress, the same one who played Alais in The Lion in Winter last month, but she didn’t pull off thirteen and flighty the same way last year’s Juliet did. I’m by no means disappointed in the play, but it wasn’t as blow-me-away as the last two year’s R&Js.
Continue to feel like crap, and I think I might be having an allergic reaction to the Diclofenac. Just lovely.
Managed 1300 words on the Paranormal Romance–which I would call novel3, except I’m not sure if there’s enough story there to call it a novel, maybe a novella? Going to try to spend today writing.
Hobkin’s been in a snit these last few days. Wonder if it’s spring fever. As I recall, skunks get a might bit tetchy come breeding season, even the ones who have been surgically incapacitated on the breeding front. He was all stompy and amok, and then he’d refuse to cuddle and a second later hop up and insist upon being petted. And he huffed at me! ‘Course he spent all last night curled up beside me . . . after pushing his ice cold paws into my side to warm them up.
I go to write. Maybe some tea would make me feel better.
Hobkin sounds like he’s going through a cat stage lol.