So last night I was watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother -- that one when Robin nearly gets deported back to Canada since she doesn't have a job. I really don't know what season. Anyways, so Barney makes this crack about how he doesn't want her to go back and have to report on how the mayor of Winnipeg's nephew caught a huge fish or something. Then he mimics her : "This is Robin Scherbatsky reporting from the worst place on earth."
Not to be hating on my current city, but no -- I am. It's true. This really is the worst place on earth. This morning I had to dig the house out of three feet drifts of snow for the third or fourth time this winter. Look at this ridiculousness:
And that was from the last time this happened. And it's not enough that I have to do this every week or two, but every time it snows -- even though I usually put off the shoveling for days afterwards -- little ole me and my little ole shovel are still faster and more efficient than the farm equipment they try and pass off as snow plows around here.
Well, at least it counts as cardio!
In the meantime I am embroiled in the final encompassing edit that will finally put this first novel to bed. I have designed a cover and am thinking about a book trailer. Indie publishing an ebook and simultaneously sending the thing off to agents. A two-pronged strategy. Have I said this already? I feel as though I have. Single mindedness. Not necessarily a bad thing.