storytelling

Here's the reason: if I sit down to write for the weblog, what wants to come out is not stuff you'd be interested in. Or let's say, maybe you'd be interested, but you would probably also be horrified. Because these days I'm really, really angry and if I let that anger get the upper hand... well. Let's not let our imaginations go to work. Things are so bad that if I walk into the family room my husband and daughter immediately change the television channel if what they are watching has anything to do, even remotely, with politics or the war. Because it's just not worth it, really. They know me well.

Also, I'm working well and trying to stay focused, and finally this: We're going to California for a few days on Thursday, the husband and I. Just the two of us. Which is lovely, but it also means I have a ton to do to make sure the house and daughter and puppy boys are taken care of while we are gone.

Which of these excuses do you like best thus far? None, you say? Well then, here's a solution. If you want me to post more, you need to ask some questions. Because otherwise I am in danger of sliding into what is so lovingly called tinfoil-hat territory, where I am at home these days.

So go ahead, ask me. I'll answer just about anything that isn't a request for (1) a term paper; (2) a full length novel; (3) a solution to the mess in which we find ourselves as a nation. Because that last choice would bring us back to where I started this post.

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