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Writing Big Things: Towards The Middle Of Your Story, You’ll Get Lost
Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.
“When did he wake up this morning?” the nanny asks, 10-month old Alek crying on her hip.
“What are we having for lunch?” My husband works from home too. ‘Works’ is a strong word for what he’s done since he sold his business, but I support him in taking some time off and figuring things out.
I take a sip of water, choke and start to cough. “You should drink some thyme tea for that cough. Trust me, I used to have bronchitis all the time, and then….” That’s our once-a-week cleaner. She’s the sweetest thing. She cares so much.
“He’s asleep.”
“I’ll get us some Gyros; what kind do you want?”
“I’ll clean the fridge today because the last time I cleaned the oven.”
Then my grandma calls.
“What?”
“My pills are over, and the pharmacy doesn’t stock them anymore. The lady said I could get these other ones that are the same but from another manufacturer. Should I take them?”
“Yes, we’ve been through this before.”
“We have?”
“Yes, last year.”