Between Shakespeare and Word Vomit,

After pretty much promising to fall off the radar a bit, I find myself needing wellies whilst knee deep in the constant brain battle that is each bit of life fighting for space within my schedule. As if normality isn't hectic enough, my life is currently in my living room, whilst the house has a bit of a face lift. The only saving grace is that I'm currently living with my lovely partner and an anorexic Shih-Tzu. I'm really not kidding about the last bit. 

Now, there are massive upsides to this, such as being made breakfast in bed (although according to the girl code I'm supposed to narrow my eyes suspiciously at this and ask what on Earth he's making up for?) and the fact that cooking for him is as natural as breathing, but there are a couple of downsides too, such as the dogs and my shared hatred of falling water, made more complicated by his need to urinate on every passing lamppost and sack of green waste. Oh, and he really likes putting his paws on my feet, and I really hate that. I don't know what it is, but animal paws on my feet makes me feel like I want to dry heave...

Now don't get me wrong, any sort of experience past a blank set of four white-washed walls is fantastic for creating something which is anywhere between Shakespeare and word vomit, but I'm not sure how interesting a novel, or even a short story, about the sadness in Bertie's (the Shih-Tzu) eyes as he stares up at my pancakes, would really be. Without some sort of Dickensian description, I'm not sure it would even make it to being a poem, though I do wonder what on Earth could be going through his head as he stares up the garden for hours no matter what the weather is doing. 

Well, my next mission is going to be getting all the parts for a new computer, currently named The Computer Which Potentially Works, as opposed to the Shit Box and the Craptop. Oh, apparently that's cheeky and 'Of course it'll f*ing work; I'm building it!' I hope  he realises I have documented proof of that statement...