There's the weather.
We've had the loveliest stretch of autumn. I remembered to slow down the other morning for a few minutes and enjoy the early morning light hitting the bright orange and red of a tree I usually see in afternoon light.
There's the health.
These allergies are annoying, and I do wish they would give over already. I have choral things this weekend, and I feel about as miserable as I sound.
There's the end of a week, and why am I still here? Ah, you see, because we have guest artists performing in my space.
There's the knitting.
I brought it with me today, but it never made it out of the car. I managed two rows this morning. Not much there.
There isn't much.
Other than this, I have nothing.
Does it count as writing if it's crap?
Not to decide is to decide?
Seems like indecision gives it a pretense at coherence.
Where's the substitute aspirin product?