As you all know, I should be at work and doing 14 hour days. Instead I'm at home taking care of a sick Himself. He's getting better but he's still not up to moving around much. So I'm hanging out at home (hooray to my awesome boss who got me 4 days off through my remaining vacation days so I get the time off AND get paid), cooking and cleaning and generally just hanging out while he sleeps. The medication is good for knocking his butt out so I don't have to listen to the whining that he doesn't feel good.
To be fair, Himself rarely ever gets sick. When he does, oh damn does this man get sick. It used to be we'd have about a week a year where he was sick but still functional. As we both get older, it's getting worse. This is the first time he's been seriously this sick during the summer AND to this degree. Usually he saves his worst sickness for December, like I do for mine in January. This past year has been one of multiple medical emergencies.
However, he's getting better and I'll be back to work on Saturday. I'm grateful to my dad who has helped us out this week with the medications since I have no money until Friday.
So...I've been having a lot of writing time. And one of my projects has really taken off. It's not one that's listed on the blog post that lists my projects. If I keep adding to it, that thing is going to be monstrous. But I do have a fun new character I'm loving.
This is just a sample of what's going on in the story. You want more details? Ask! I'll be glad to share a few more hints about this project.
Rachel smirked as Nick stared at her. The tight pants, corset top, and high heeled boots made her look very different from anyone's idea of a psychiatrist. "So, are you my new therapist?" Nick asked.
"Actually, I'm a bartender," Rachel said, grinning as she sat down.
Nick smirked. "A bartender?"
Rachel waved one hand dismissively. "Budget cuts. Do you know how expensive an actual psychoanalyst is? Since I get paid shit to listen to people's problems anyway, they decided to bring me in instead to see if I could get you to spill your guts."
Nick snorted. "So do I get the attendant alcohol with this analysis?"
Rachel shrugged. "Sorry, government facility. No alcohol allowed."
"So what makes you think I'm going to talk to you?" Nick asked, leaning back as best he could in the chair he was shackled to.
Rachel leaned forward. "Well, you can talk to me or you can go back to solitary confinement with only your shadow for a conversation companion. Which would you prefer?"
Nick tilted his head to one side. "So, do you want to hear about my horrible childhood? Or how I have daddy issues?"
Rachel sat up. "Let's start with the childhood. I'm a sucker for hard luck cases."