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MEGAN: It’s not my fault I like a bad boy.
ME: Your boyfriend plays Dungeons and Dragons three times a week. Forgive me, but that doesn’t scream a man who needs to be saved from his wayward path into illicit activities.
MEGAN: That’s why I like the bad boys. Keeps it fresh, you know?
ME: Does Dan know that?
MEGAN: What do you think I watch while he plays D&D? It’s not the bloody Discovery channel.
An excellent point.
MEGAN: That’s enough about me. What’s wrong with you? Are your words broken?
ME: So broken. It’s been eight days, and nothing is coming out.
MEGAN: Have you tried porn?
How did I know that was going to be her first question?
ME: More than once.
MEGAN: Then something is coming out, but it’s not your words.
ME: MEGAN. THAT’S NOT HELPFUL.
MEGAN: Bet the porn was, though.
ME: Do you have a real suggestion to help me????
MEGAN: You need a change of scenery. All you do is sit in your house and write. Occasionally you surface for food and drinks with the girls. Why don’t you get away?
ME: On… like… a writing retreat?
MEGAN: Or just a short break. It’s not like you have to book time off. You can take your job with you.
ME: That’s true.
MEGAN: So just book a house or something somewhere you’ve always wanted to go that’s totally different from here, take that arsehole cat of yours, and get away from it all. I bet you’ll find something to inspire you.
That really wasn’t the worst idea in the world.
I hadn’t spent any time away from my computer in about three years, and even if I was going to take it with me… A change of scenery might not hurt. Sometimes I had to write in a coffee shop or in the garden or even the living room instead of my office, but none of those options had worked.
Was it a little drastic? Sure. But Meg was right—I didn’t have to ring in sick from a job, so there was nothing stopping me.
Well.
That wasn’t strictly true.
My arsehole cat was somewhat of a stumbling block. If I were to go somewhere and write an entire book, he’d have to come with me. It wasn’t fair to send him to a cattery for so long, none of my neighbours in their right mind would look after him, and honestly, I was really quite attached to the little sod.
Who was currently climbing through the window with a dead bird in his mouth.
“Winston!” I exclaimed, jumping up. “What are you doing? We’ve spoken about this! No animals in the house!”
He looked up at me with all the innocence that his Maine Coon arse could muster.
Spoiler: it was none. Fucking en-oh-en-eenone.
