It's day 14 of 18.
It's sunny and sparkling. The school kids are all away to their buses, my floaty grace kelly cobalt blue dress is a hit all over town, and I've an evening of champagne and a picnic with my lover planned.
The garden is glorious (aside from it's boggy odour from the drying up swamps in the corners), the public is happy and all is well. I even got flowers from an appreciative publicist and managed to sound not-retarded on national television. It's manic and chaotic, frustrating and complicated. But I love it.
Things are remarkably good considering I've not slept in days, I'm not nearly finished and things are far from perfect.
I have never been too tired to have sex before. It's a new level of fatigue I could do without repeating. And the fact my schmancy online grocery order never came due to a server error at the store is a bit rubbish as I am eating complete garbage these days (today? stale bagel, 2 cans of coke, bruised apple and chocolate cookie).
But still, I haven't lost hope. And with the end in sight, I'm even more excited for the next one, which will be better planned, better organised and easier all way round.
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