Next stop: Disaster City


So what’s the what? How’re things with you? All good in the hood? Excellent. Now that all the polite talk is out of the way let’s talk about me. 

Last year sucked. Like a hoover. SUCKED. (Keep your thoughts clean, yo!) Anyway, it was bad. I took some time off in December to recuperate. At the start of January I spent a lot of time working through my goals and fixing time management plans for 2019. Scheduling book releases and editing dates and cover reveals and new books to be written and working hours and anything that could be scheduled I scheduled it. And it felt awesome! I was like, “Woo hoo! I’m gonna ride 2019 like a bull!”. (Remember what I said about clean thoughts!)

And then I broke three fingers. On my dominant hand. Yeah.

giphy-1.gif

(Actually, I didn’t break them, Mr Wolf broke them, but we’ll get on to that in a bit!) Nothing puts a crimp in your writing plans like breaking the things you write with. Well, actually, since I’ve been getting my dictation on, I don’t really use them to write with—I use them to edit. And since all the books I was planning to release need some editing …

My Wolf threw his squeaky toy wrench in my finely tuned yearly plan. This is my looooong-winded way of telling you that despite all my “2019? I’m going to be a woman of my word” talk, there’s going to be a slight delay in Bridget releases.

*Looks around* Anyone else feel like this is an airport? Like, you’re waiting for your flight to Disneyland or Bali and the stupid airport people are saying, “It’s going to be another hour folks”. And then an hour later when you get your stuff ready and move to the gate they’re like, “Yep, just going to be another hour folks” and then you try to find a chair, but they’re all taken, so you end up sitting on the floor and getting a numb bum?

Airport likeness aside, this is unhappily where we are. Due to broken digits, everything is delayed by a month. In the meantime, I’m going to wrap myself in bubblewrap so nothing else can happen to me and I can finally get these books out into the world for you. Hopefully I won’t suffocate myself in the bubblewrap.

Now, let me tell you how Mr Wolf broke my fingers.

No, it wasn’t lead involved like when he broke my toe (honestly, I’d never broken a bone in my entire life until Mr Wolf came along!). It snowed a few days ago and then it rained, and then the temperate dropped and the thin layer of snowy rain turned to ice. I was hesitant to walk him, but he gave me his puppy eyes that work for everything and I took him out. I knew it was slippy so I was cautious. A few feet out of the gate, a pair of six-month-old chiwow-wowa’s (yes, I know that’s not how you spell it in real life, but that’s how it sounds in my head) started barking across the road. They’re Mr Wolf’s friends, so he drags me over the road—I somehow manage to stay upright—so he can say hi. (They’re so adorable they stand on each other so they can lick his nose—it’s the cutest thing ever.)

Disclaimer: This isn’t Mr Wolf, but this IS his reaction to snow.

Disclaimer: This isn’t Mr Wolf, but this IS his reaction to snow.

And ‘cause I survived that I was feeling pretty confident. Made it all the way home without incident. I was busy congratulating myself on that when, in the two seconds I took my eyes off him to get my front door key out, he pulls and over I go, trying to catch myself on the fence and snapping three of my fingers.

Yep.

And then, when I’m sitting on the frozen ground, supporting myself against the fence in dazed agony, Mr Wolf lies down beside me and starts whining because he doesn’t understand what’s going on. And then, with only five working fingers (no, I’m not counting thumbs as fingers because, well, they’re thumbs!) I have to console him. It’s tough being a parent, yo.

So that’s how that happened.

I hope your week has been better than mine and we’ll catch up next week when I’ve hopefully perfected typing with my left hand. Until then, please stay safely away from any mixture of huskies and icy ground.

jordaina