No, I'm not dead. I actually wrote a blog message on Friday, but Jim's laptop and my Dana aren't working well together. (If I could convince him to buy a new computer, like a Mac, we'd be in business).
I've been working seven days a week, and it has been draining me. I feel guilty about being such a wimp, though. There are millions of people world-wide in much worse conditions than I am in, working seven days a week for years on end, and here I am, complaining about a few weeks of it.
I miss spending all day with my daughter, though.
Friday night was "Parents' Night Out" so Elizabeth spent the evening at daycare while Jim and I went out to dinner. We debated about seeing a movie, but decided it would be more fun if we went to the bookstore to write/study. I loved it - we got to sit down, together, throughout an entire meal. We got to browse the bookstore without running after Ms. Toddlypants. I got to sit down and write an entire scene in Rohana's tale.
Sunday was depressing because I spent eight hours in a building attacked in 1941, presumably full of ghosts of men who had been sleeping in their beds that fateful Sunday morning, ALL BY MYSELF. I didn't see a single soul the entire time I was in there. (Maybe that's a good thing: No souls = no ghosts.) Anyhow, today was much better as there were other people living and breathing nearby, with tinkling brains.
Only one week left. We leave next Tuesday for San Diego, and then Jim will brave the Physics GRE. I know he will do fantastically well on it. :-)