So, I don't really like my climax right now. I'm going to let it go. I'm going to walk away from the book for a couple of days this Thanksgiving break. I'm so, so close to my conclusion. Two chapters, tops. Five thousand more words maybe. In a few days, I'll be golden, sitting on top of a pile of 52,000 of those fuckers altogether.

I'm going to sleep in tomorrow. LATE. I think I'll try to sleep till 10, then wake up and sit in my ugly-ass pajamas until Mom makes me peel something. Anyone in Valpo is cordially invited to my ugly-ass pajama party. Your pjs don't have to be ugly. Later, we can get dressed and go do something.

Selfishly, what I am most excited about is not having to deal with a small child for five whole days. I don't talk about my babysitting gig very often, do I? They're good kids, S-- and E---. They just make me toss them in the air until my arms fall off. Working two jobs means that the most critical analysis I've done in a couple weeks was all a musing to myself on God and goodness according to Thomas the Tank Engine. Ten or more minutes into the muse I found myself thinking, "Fuck. Am I Tao of Pooh-ing? I am Tao of Pooh-ing. Fuck." It was almost, nearly, kind of a palindrome. I need to let you know that these are smart, verbal children. I am simply overexposed to them and their media. I don't appreciate Eric Carle anymore, and I don't want to read Goodnight, Moon ever again.

I am ready for a break. Thank you for Thanksgiving, November. And for a sunny election day. And for my novel too.