I think the person in this picture is dead. But I'm not, and I have to remember that.
Okay, first things first. This may be unbelievable to anyone who doesn't walk around in a constant haze, but just last night I realized that, about a month ago, two lovely people wrote me blog comments on the death of Willy and the birth of Lucy. Please forgive me, loyal readers, and thank you for being there. I couldn't see you through the fog!
It's a funny thing about blogs. You write for whatever reason, and you never really know who, if anyone, is reading your words. You just do it because...oh, who knows? For me, it's sheer delight bordering on compulsion. I love it.
So you know I've been out of it when I'm silent for so long.
On my other blog, I made it clear that I'm in the middle of rewrites for my novel. In fibro terms, this means less actual writing and more wandering around, bumping into things inside my foggy head. It's the old Grope-and-Hope Method of writing.
Today I came out to my favorite cafe, hoping to attract some practical work energy, and looky here -- I'm writing a blog entry. It's like magic. The only thing I don't like about this cafe is the music. The guy who seems to live behind the counter is a classical Spanish guitar student at the university here in Baja. You'd never know it. Björk appears to be the musak of choice. Yikes. I keep meaning to bring my earphones, but guess what: I forgot them again.
I may be starting to wake up from this latest bout of fatigue. I better be, if I want to get anything done besides crocheting little hurricanes for my El Niño blanket. Pictures to come.
Well, now that I'm sitting up, it's time to get back to work. If you're still reading, thank you for being here. You've helped raise me from the dead.
By the way, if you're wondering how Lucy's doing, the answer is she's full of beans, as always. I'll let her know you asked.