Crumbs

The children are waiting! Please tell them the story about the bald frog with the wig:
Not that they will care, or understand. The way Time eats a dropped cookie: absentmindedly, with teeth like little black ants.

This line is over on Dave's blog, where I am spending some of this rainy morning reading his archives. It's lazy and juicy like an unplanned trip to your favorite bookstore. If he ever quits writing, I'll have to get a real job.

It's pouring here, and though I have a manuscript sitting idle on my work table, I am steadfastly refusing to work. Instead, I am dreaming of a trip to the dessert and of long hot tubs in the rain and of getting soaking wet, walking up the hill holding hands.

I made so much soup yesterday, the whole afternoon can be wasted today. Housework is done and most projects are on deadline and I could easily sneak out, unnoticed. Ooooooooooooh, tempting. I could come home tomorrow, even. Possibilities are endless.

That's the thing that will save me. I'll wander among the choices and suddenly it will be Tuesday. *heh. time for work.

Comments

[elck]

ViaNeg:

That is such a beautiful compliment; I feel the same way about Dave's blog.

It's generous of you (particularly if you like bookshops as much as I do).