On the last day of my work week, my coworkers reminded me that I'm supposed to be decorating a pumpkin for the work party this weekend. That is, they were gleefully comparing felts and paints and various ways to bedazzle a pumpkin. I had forgotten about this, because of the hours I'd been dealing with Day Job.
I originally wasn’t going to enter the pumpkin decoration contest, until they quite innocently, with no malice aforethought, noted that they expected the limits of my creativity would be to bring a pumpkin with “Scary” scribbled on it in sharpie.
Which is how I find myself writing again, in fits and starts, and running around town trying to find a kid’s trenchcoat, paint, and 3 pumpkins that’ll stack so I can have 3 racoons in a trench coat, pumpkin version.
Of course, I also have access to Cedar Sanderson, and not just her paints and brushes, but her amused ability to paint. So in the end, it's not so much a demonstration of my craftiness, as my ability to delegate. And I'm okay with that.
Spite. It gets things done.
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