I'm not adventurous. I'm not mysterious. The only "ous" I am is cantankerous, particularly after a soccer- and bowling-filled day followed by a Halloween night. Throw in a time change, and you've got someone even more cantankerous than usual.
["But you're gaining an hour," you protest, weakly because you are, rightfully so, afraid of me. "Bull," I counter, cantankerously. "I have children. There's no benefit to this extra hour. Unless you count bitchy kids up an hour past their true bedtime a benefit."]
What, then, does this have to do with the prompt from Sunday Scribblings this week?
["I say, it appears she really has just lost it completely," you say to your monitor, whispering because you're afraid I'll hear you."]
I've already wasted the extra hour I was given to write 50,000 words this month.
Now that's an adventure.