We are looking for a new house cleaner. I hopefully have someone coming to interview today. We’ll see how it goes. I don’t want to go much longer without someone to clean. Obviously, I clean too. But I definitely need someone to come on a regular basis and do cleaning.
I have been sick. I have been vomiting bile for hours every day for several days. I finally went to an emergency room to make sure that everything was okay and that I didn’t have a recurrence of a medical problem I have had before. They took a CT scan and said that everything was good. They gave me some medicine for nausea, and I’ve been taking that for 2 days. It helps a lot more than it did when I was pregnant. They also told me that I have a cyst on an ovary that probably needs to be fixed. Sometime this week I will call a gynecologist. I just really don’t feel like it. I don’t want to go into one. So if it’s not too big I will probably just let it burst. It hurt like hell the last time that happened to me but at least I didn’t have to go in for one of those god-awful exams. It’s just important to make sure that the cyst is not above a certain size because if it is you can have a lot of internal bleeding when it ruptures. I am just beyond grateful it wasn’t the problem I was afraid it was.
It must be a stomach bug, but this is a very unusual and long-lasting stomach bug.
I have been doing some writing but not as much as I would like. On a bright note, I have begun writing horror (what a weird sentence). I’ve been talking about it for ages, but I put fingers to keyboard and I started a story. I have the beginning how I want it, although as usual I will have to revise 50 more times. I just not sure how I want it to end. I’m not sure where I want to take it. And I have a second story in the works.
This is the best volume of ghost stories I have ever read. They make you think. They make you imagine. They make you feel someone watching you, someone breathing on the back of your neck. The women writers in this anthology really show that women have mastered the art of horror writing.
Inside the house there are ghosts gnashing their teeth,
whispering into the baby monitor.
At the other end of the house I freeze
hear the voices amid crackles of static,
stop folding towels.
She is the final holdout,
but the bread has crossed over to our side.
Cold shaped eyes stare
from the bottom of the well.