The Worst Spa of All Time

If you could see me right now (I’m saying “if” because “You’d better not be staring at me right now because that would be creepy as h-e-doublehockeysticks” sounds a bit harsh) you’d see me wearing no makeup, snuggled under a blanket on the couch with my laptop on my lap and some extremely heavy eyelids.

The blanket is entirely my fault, the eyelids aren’t. My weekend was 100-miles-a-minute busy, and even though it was busy in a good way it was still busy and I fervently wish I had a weekend to recover from my weekend.

This is what my table looked like at the signing!

On Saturday I had my first book signing and I’d say it went swimmingly. I’d consider it a huge success, because I sold one book to someone I don’t know, and sold whole heaping bunches to friends and family members who came out to support me.

I’ve gotta say, there’s absolutely nothing in the whole world that makes a writer feel more loved than when someone takes time out from their weekend to stop by their book signing. I was positively beaming by the time I got home, even though I was hobbled by sore feet thanks to my unwise decision to wear high-heeled boots to said signing.

Then on Sunday I volunteered to watch a passel of toddlers in the Sunday school class for kids slightly older than my son, which meant I spent an hour and a half holding kids, breaking up squabbles, rousting trouble-makers, and changing diapers/taking children to the bathroom. After that, I helped set up for a baby shower, attended the shower, and then helped clean up afterward.

I. Am. So. Freaking. Tired.

It was a weekend filled with all things that are good, but I’m still exhausted from all the Being Nice and Chatting With People and Setting Up/Taking Down. I dream of a spa day, quiet and serene, where no one’s allowed to talk and my only job is to sit there and relax while people make my skin and nails happy.

My Monday so far is exactly like that if you consider chastising Aidan for ripping pages out of books to be quiet and serene, vacuuming the house to be sitting there and relaxing, and editing my book and answering emails the same as having people make my skin and nails happy.

Gosh, wouldn’t that just be the worst spa of all time?!

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