A Post That Basically Says Nothing

Yesterday, the internet connection that I've been, um, 'borrowing' at home went kaput, but I wrote down my blogpost instead! I shall not fail at my quest so early in the year, at least in August I could feel some sense of accomplishment. Post 13 would just be sad.

My post for 01/13:

So I got news back today that an opportunity that I've been working on since late November might be bearing fruit. I'd like to tell what it is, but I'm absolutely terrified of jinxing it. I know it's silly, but I haven't told anyone about it yet. Over Christmas break, I kept thinking that maybe I should mention it to my parents or Redhead, but I just couldn't do it. What if I told them and then it didn't pan out? I would spend quite a few nights wondering if it would have gone better had I kept it a secret.

Besides, this way if it doesn't work out, I won't have to deal with them sympathizing with me. I know they mean well, but I'd rather just forget about it and move on. In any case, he said that he would hopefully have news within the next two weeks, so when I get word, I'll pass it along to you! Then I'll reference this post and it'll be like the end of a mystery story when you go 'Oh, that's who dunnit!' Except, of course, no one had to get murdered for my story. At least, I hope not.

Invasion

I didn't really intend to post again so soon, but I just realised that my home is being invaded about this time. All summer, it's just been me and the Bad Vegan (pseudonyms are fun!), which has worked out pretty well. I work all morning, she works all night, and I love solitude. We get to chat in the afternoon, but then I have the whole lovely evening to waltz about the house singing crazy-loud and whatever I want.

Now comes the Historical K.

It's not so much the threat of lacking solitude, although I would be lying if I said that did not worry me, so much as the little things that might change. The Bad Vegan assures me that she is compulsively neat, which is a definite plus, and I am fond of her. But! It's the silly things that worry me. What if she's in the kitchen on Sunday mornings and I can't bake bread? What if she does her laundry on Sunday afternoons, too? The Bad Vegan has come to (at least) tolerate my singing and dancing and old movies, but what if I freak the Historical K out?

I know I'm being ridiculous. We have talked before and we outnumber the Bad Vegan in liking chocolate by the barrel, baking at all times of the day, and romantic comedies in overdoses. I like her and she will be great to live with.

I just want to write in the early evening at the kitchen table.