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60 Hour Weeks are Not FunSo, between working a million hours, trying to move, get Christmas together, and write a book, I am drinking coffee at 10:30 at night and getting exactly nothing accomplished.  Usually about this time of year I’m just doing a couple of those things, but the whole house-buying process is… well… stressful.  The VA has tightened its standards (awesome, btw), and they already take a long time to close, but add in holidays and it’s infernal.  Okay, so that’s maybe a *bit* of an exaggeration, but I’m sure you understand.

In other news… Wait… I have no other news.  Work, move, play Santa, and write.  That is all my news.

And… just because I like you (or because it’s Wednesday), I give you a snippet.

It had been almost four years since she’d escaped the prison that was her former life, and in that time she’d never longed for a man to hold her, to comfort her, to just plain touch her like she meant something, like she was worth something, like she mattered. She twisted her hands in her lap. Could she do it? Could she touch him in a way that wasn’t therapeutic or professional? She lifted her left hand to lay it on his shoulder, but he stood before she had a chance to try.