I sat on the freshly washed and dried pile of clothes, on top my unmade bed for nearly two seconds before I decided to take my sopping wet head outside instead to write while I waited for the Poly Fill to dry so I could paint up all she’d cracked.

But after setting up my patio chairs beside that ever busy road and sitting down with that fuzzy blanket over top my pasty white legs, I realized this couldn’t possibly be healthy for my never ending cold. So I picked up my ringing cell phone and gathered up that fuzzy blanket to take inside. The person calling was my mother. It’d be a while before I’d get off my phone. In fact, we’d sit there talking until my battery was near dead. Two hours later, and I’ve done nothing I’d intended.

I’d like to be upset since I nearly covet my writing time this past couple months, but I don’t have time to sit and sulk about all I have nothing to complain about. I can shower, I can have clean clothes and a pile of them. I have four strong walls to shelter me, an over-sized bed to sleep well in, people who call because they care… I have a patio, ’nuff said. I have so much more thanking to get to.

So here I am on this over sized couch. Cell phone dead. Heart at rest. And I don’t even know where to begin.