I left her in there with a television and a whole season’s worth of LOST re-runs. Hope that makes you happy, dear!
I’ve commandeered this blog, but don’t expect me to waste my damn time waxing poetic like Bonnie does. I’ve got no f**king time to waste.
I was tired of Bonnie’s bellyaching, her constant distractions. Worrying about finances, paying bills, housework, hurricanes, television shows, tickets for the King Tut show next month, travel next week, the trip to Honduras for the day job next month, hubby’s upcoming surgery, all those trivial matters. Oh, and the day job. The strain of writing about the suffering poor, the lack of appreciation at work, how they expect her to constantly deliver time and again. I do believe it has caused the poor dear to tip over the edge.
She’s lost her damn mind, as a friend would say.
I don’t give a crap about the day job or the suffering poor. The house can become a declared disaster zone as far as I’m concerned. If the parrot screeches, I douse him with water. Dogs need food? Too damn bad. They can stand to lose a little weight. Hubby needs attention? Tough. Here’s Penthouse.
I have one focus. To write. That’s it. And I’m damn well going to do it.
Bonnie is gone temporarily. Look out world. I’ve taken over. My name is Blair Valentine and I’m going to finish this damn western proposal even if it kills Bonnie. That is, if watching all those ridiculous episodes of LOST doesn’t do it first.