In a fit of pure selfishness, I issued a “Do not touch the Hush” mandate yesterday and forced myself to abide by it. This confused my four-legged furry muse to the point of chronic suspicion. Eyeing my every non-The Hushing Days movement with a “You’re taking me to the vet, aren’t you?” paranoia, the day off proved to be relaxing for no one.
Even turning my attention to the “Cora’s Garden” blog just to allay some of the dog’s manic fears, didn’t satisfy the little taskmaster.
Floor-level “J’accuse!” stares pounded me all day. (A rather psyche-bruising experience, I assure you… especially when one’s ego is Barney Fife-like on the best of days.)
But I stuck to my guns. Not a speck of work was done on The Hushing Days, despite the scowling, fuzzy brow of the peeved General Patton-wannabe on my couch.
In short, I won… even though I haven’t managed to dig up a spoil one yet.
No matter. I will no doubt be paying for that “victory” through the teeth today.
Wish me survival, my friends.