I start it and forget about it; that's the problem. By now (7:45 A.M.), the dog is on my lap trying to cute me into taking him for a walk, and my husband is calling "What's burning?" Strangely, I never notice the smell myself, I'm so focused on my writing.
Occasionally I've endured smoke and caused flames to leap out of the microwave, and twice my husband has found me outside sharing a puffer with the dog. He relies on the smoke alarm for his wakeup call (my husband, not the dog) and each year, spring thaw reveals the number of blackened pots I've had to throw into the snow over the winter.
Whether it's original content for a blogsite, a manuscript appraisal for a client, or the latest chapter of my novel, it all takes priority over the activites of daily living which I quite enjoy once I finish my creative writing and start on my To Do list.
That reminds me; with Easter coming I'll have to go shopping for cookware. My husband will be preparing the meal, but he'll need some stainless steel to work with.
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