Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there.
Another week ended yesterday and I really don't have a lot to show for it.
You really don't want to hear about the writing malaise and I really don't want to talk about it. It's here. It is what it is. I'm sick of it and I'm sick of myself. Nuff said.
I read two books last week. I would've read more but one of them was a fantasy, which means large and involved.
I did some outdoor work and some fishing. Speaking of which, some of the work I did was undone by other people. It wasn't unexpected and it was something I feared would happen. But bleh. I could rant, but that's all I seem to be capable of lately and I'm sick of that, too.
The deer here are fat pregnant. I can't wait until we start seeing fawns again.
The birds are still migrating through, but the ones who left for winter all back and the ones who came for the winter have left.
The week ahead is my birthiversary week. We're not doing anything for either, just like we're not doing anything for Mother's Day. But I'll be 47 and we'll have been married for 13 years. And 24 years ago today, I was pregnant with the Kid.
That's it for me. Please tell me something about your week. Did you accomplish stuff?