(no subject)

On the train this morning I started the rewrite of the novel I started last summer and took to Milford. I have a much better take on the main character this time, and a better sense of the time. I also realized that even though I'm writing historical fiction of a sort, it's still fiction, so if I stray from reality it doesn't matter so long as I have a good reason (and no one notices). What I found funny last year is that a lot of the stuff I know was correct, no one believed was right.

Why I am the world's suckiest Turtle Mom, reason #6,372,998

When I came home from work today I opened my front door, which opens onto the living room. I heard a thump, and a scrape, as I pushed open the door. I was confused, because I didn't leave anything in front of the door when I left this morning, and no one else is staying here right now. I opened the door just wide enough to squeeze through, and sure enough, there was Dymphna, lying on her side, leaning against the open door. She appeared to be fine, and in fact after her initial hide came out again to wander around. Right now she's sitting on the heating vent. (It's gotten colder here.)