I’ve been rather quiet here in the virtual world. The “real” world has become rather messy lately, and I’ve temporarily realigned my priorities. {ehem}

But don’t feel neglected. I’ve barely touched my manuscript in weeks, though post-it notes filled with chicken-scratch edit ideas cover every flat surface in my house. Wonky work hours have forbidden me from sipping wine on weekdays (my back and neck are quite pissed off about this as those areas are now absorbing all my stress).  AND reading has become an imagined bliss as far fetched as enjoying a massage on a Costa Rican beach.

Seriously. My wine shop must think I’ve died. It took me a week and a half to read the hilarious Stephanie McAffee’s Diary of a Mad Fat Girl. A week-and-a-half. I should have devoured that book in one sitting, like a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. I have no time to review it, but if you like funny, read it. That woman is a hoot. ( I met her in person at the UCF Bookfest a few weeks ago. HOOT.)

Between those issues, my temp job, illnesses, funerals, pre-tween meltdowns, and a car in the shop for nearly two weeks so far (and possibly not ever coming out), I have the wits of a dried-up prison bitch. And without a few layers of makeup, the rings under my eyes make me look like one, too.

Oh, and did I mention it’s been raining? I’m considering building an ark. Or at least blowing up the inflatable boat, just in case, since we sure as hell won’t be needing it in the overflowing pool for a while.

Okay. Bitchfest done. Now for some humor.

Anyone listen to the old Bill Cosby records when they were kids? I’d imagine any child of the seventies had a few of them around the house. Laying on the avocado green shag carpet, I listen to the rain patter down while Bill Cosby told me stories from my red striped record player.

Every time I feel like I’ve been dumped in the heart of monsoon season, I think of Bill and his tale of Noah and the ark…  What’s a cubit?




If I build my ark, it shall be filled with pairs of books and wine. Forget the animals. Too messy. Too stinky. If the world is ending, I don’t want to be shoveling zebra shit, I want my nose buried in a book and a glass of wine in my hand…with my loved ones by my side (preferably rubbing my back).