Sitting home alone with both kids until 8 o'clock at night? Check. Son sick, refusing to eat and demanding to be held constantly? Check. Dog refusing to drink water for two days? Actually unchecked, she finally drank something.
Writing time? Oh ma'am, you must be joking.
Today I Wrote:
Actually I did manage to finish the third part of the Fallout Shelter log, which is posted up here. For the record I'm trying to capture a disaster on the scale of Boatmurdered and it's nowhere near happening so far. My natural inclination toward doing well in a game is messing me up, I think. I'm either going to have to institute a "no resurrections" policy or go whole-hog into the nightmarish deeps beneath the world if I want good copy.
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