I tried to cut my blog posts back to one a week, but *someone* wouldn’t let me. Something about 90% of everything written being crap and expanding the sample size so that 10% is a bigger selection. Or something.
Anyway, here I am. Writing my post for the night.
My fever has finally abated and I’m making a bit more sense out of the nonfiction I’ve been wading through. Angry feminists can be very trying with a temperature.
Maybe it’s all this sleep, or all the work, but I’m a springtime, romantic mess. All I want is romance novels, long lonely walks, and some handiwork to keep me busy. Finishing my newest (biggest!) painting is definitely on the horizon.