Real life gets in the way

I hate moving house. I hate it. Everything about it – the house hunting, the packing, the cleaning. I’m not built for physical labour, so after two days of hefting ikea furniture and scrubbing floors that haven’t been touched with the Jif (or to keep up to date, Cif) since moving in I’m bruised like a peach. But these joys are still to come – I’ve seen 12 properties, none of which I’d deign to keep my dog in. Arrrgh. So all this, on top of a joyous long weekend in Paris, have meant my writing/ reading/ general desperation has fallen by the wayside for a couple of weeks. Back on the case this Wednesday and my aims are:

1) To finish reading the book from the Artists’ Studio and provide feedback.
2) To read the next script I have from the Feedback Exchange and write a report

Ideally I also need to tackle re-writing the piece of work from my writing group a couple of weeks ago, taking into account their amends, and finish of my almost-complete first play draft. All of a sudden one day a week doesn’t seem like much time.