between running back and forth to rehearsals for the belles. The house looks as if a bomb has hit with discarded tapshoes, metallic streamers from the twirly batons and reminders about school stuff. Somehow in the midst of the chaos I'm supposed to help boil eggs and decorate them, fill smartie tubes with money for the PTA and finish off all the stuff I need to do before I leave my job.
Oh, and write a book.
I'm sure I'd do it all much better without a bunged up nose and that underwater feeling in my ears.