The progress report or lack thereof:



“Prrroooogresss Rrrrreeepooorrrttt!” she shouted and the house echoed. My jaw dropped to the floor as she appeared in a tight leopard skin unitard.
‘Oh my word, I cannot look at that without feeling ill,” I said, averting my gaze.
“It’s the latest fashion dear and extremely slimming, not to mention comfortable. It hardly chafes at all when you are on the treadmill.”
“They are allowing you back after the incident then?” I asked, referring to the fact that she had caused pandemonium and had broken one of their new treadmills last time she had gone there. I was sure that they had banned her for life.
“Well, I pleaded, dear. You know how I can go on and on about something.”
She had worn them down; now I understood.
“Back to the subject at hand, though. How are your word counts for Camp Nano?” she asked and I balked.
“580 on Dead-Lee and the 1268 on blog posts,” I whispered, bowing my head in shame and sinking to the floor in a watery puddle.
“So the novel is dead in the water- pun intended?” she asked and I had to agree that it was going nowhere fast; like a runaway train heading for the precipice. The brakes were failing and the wheels were coming off.
“Never mind, I have something for you that will take your mind off things,” she said as she handed me an A4 paper on which the following was printed.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, just render you unconscious. All good therapists know that if you tap into the unconscious you work will be superlative and effortless,” she argued the matter.
“I will also be dead. Is that unconscious enough for you?”
“It says to stop once you are unconscious. If you carry on thereafter that’s up to you, dear,” she said innocently and sauntered off. The leopard spots quivered in the diminishing light.
Wish me luck, dear reader, perhaps this will work. If not visit me in hospital and please bring chocolates!



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