Wednesday

The post’s title is short because that’s all I can think of today.  I promised you stories of my mucus, old buildings and new visitors; but all you’ve had are jokes.

Super Yorkie (Photo credit: Jenn and Tony Bot)

I’m tired.

I’ve had two months of constant on-the-go-ness and now I have to listen to my husband using my own nagging against me: Listen to your body!  It’s okay to do nothing for a little while. Watch telly and leave your laptop alone.  Your readers will manage to survive without you.

Okay, I don’t say that last bit to him, but I would if he was a blogger.

I’m lying in bed at lunchtime typing this, and I don’t feel guilty.  I don’t feel anything except jellyness – that feeling that you will collapse into a sticky puddle on the floor, licked up by dogs with sweet tooths and remembered only as that blogger who made us laugh for a bit till she overdid it and then disappeared into a Yorkie’s gut.

Yes, self-pity is alive and well in Tillybudland, but it’s nothing a week off and the first thirty episodes of ER won’t cure.

See you on the other side, if I don’t turn into a pudding.