Aside from Hector, I have the house to myself for nine days. Totally against the grain of my soul, I’ve mapped out a ‘plan’ for how to spend those days wisely… and contrary to popular opinion, they don’t contain Pot Noodles and an abundance of Netflix.

I’ve got the next issue of the magazine under control (which can only be done with late nights, coffee and being smart), which has freed up some time for galavanting with a pen through some more of what will be my next novel (though it will be a short one - I have plan on that front too) while also flirting dangerously with a Gretsch and GarageBand.

And while I was making pasta this evening (not from scratch, so that should read ‘watching it boil’) I thought it almost looked like a life and I wouldn’t be far off. I might not be swimming in a pool of plenty - what committed minimalist is - but the wheels are moving in the right direction and that’s good enough for me.

Feeling pleased with myself that the plan worked out (at least for day one) I went looking for a print of this but came up empty handed:

That would look great on the wall around here. Maybe I’ll pursue it a little harder if tomorrow rolls in the same direction.