Yesterday was good. I wrote. I actually did it. I haven't written anything yet tonight, but I will. Today was a bit more anxious. To top it off, somebody gave one of the dogs some leftover people food. I know that's what happened because he barfed up a giant chunk of sweet potato right before he accidentally pooped on the floor. These dogs have never had an accident in the house before. I had to get the hub to clean the poop because I was freaking and kind of nauseated after dealing with cleaning the sweet potato puke. Of course, because of the germ thing, there were copious amounts of bleach involved in the whole thing. Then the carpet machine had to be cleaned in the tub. Then the tub had to be bleached. The whole thing was disgusting. And I just noticed a bleach spot on my favorite pair of slacks. Did I mention that I was already suffering with anxiety before the poop fest? Yeah. And that just made it worse than it was to start with. Unless it comes out of a human infant I gave birth to, I am totally phobic about any kind of poop. I laid down the law. NO ONE except me is allowed to give these dogs anything but dog food or water from now on. I mean it this time. Damn. I need them to listen to me about this. Dogs are not garbage disposals! I feel like I need a drink.

UPDATE at 1:00 AM --
I kept my promise to the husband. I wrote my 300 word minimum for the second night in a row. I'm not sure how I feel about that right now, though. Because the bad stuff always creeps into my fiction and there seem to be no exceptions. New Guy understands the problem with my stories and has asked to see my work. I always find excuses not to share it with him. Maybe I should show him the work in progress? I don't know yet. I'm not sure what I will do.