Emptied out the gifted trailer. Years worth of rat nests stuffed in every drawer, pine needles composted with foam-rubber bits chewed from the mattresses and bench pads, each of which is missing sizable chunks to rodent enterprise. Too, mattress coverings drenched & dried in ancient cat pee and here and there a long wafer of dried excrement.

The HEAVY rubber gloves. Hot water, vinegar for the stench of it, later (not combining) waves of ammonia and bleach in turn, not combining. Planned for today.

I emptied out the writing trailer late yesterday after first keyboarding 500 words for Chapter 5. I had started this project completing 1500 words a day, Now it's murder wringing out 500.

Hence, an analogy: my first two days of fastwalking I covered several miles and never was winded or sore. Since then, though, I crap out sooner and sooner. How does this square with building stamina? Husband, erstwhile drill instructor he is, explains that with much exercise after long slothfulness the body responds as though it were in emergency, and it hands you all the juice you need. But when a pattern of exercise forms, then the body adapts--this is the new normal--and returns to its pre-exertion levels of fuel and energy. So now I am winded after six blocks, now I pass out as soon as I get back home, and so on.

So with the writing: the emergency that carried me forward in the early chapters proves not so emergent after all, and now I have to build that muscle on my own. Ugh.