Oh dear.
I have writer's block.
(That doesn't seem to be keeping you from writing, now does it? Have you ever thought that WE would be better off if you just took the day off and didn't bother us with your artistic constip... oh never mind, I know you are going to keep right on going. You were saying?...)
Boy, looks like I am not the only one in a funk today.
(I am NOT in a funk.)
Whatever you say there Mush Muffin.
I think I am suffering from the painful embarrassment of low biorhythms, brought on by the unseasonably warm weather.
Now don't get me wrong. I am enjoying the weather. It's just that not long ago it was a howling gale outside and now it's 80 degrees. Kind of makes your head spin. One day I needed the heater in the car and the next I used the air conditioning in self-defense. One day I am incredibly productive, and the next I can't keep my eyes open. I think they used to call this Spring Fever. Now they call it Seasonal Biorhythm Fluctuations, and they give you Prozac for it.
Well, I don't have any Prozac, so I am writing in here instead.
(So what does that make US? Your therapist?)
No, I already have a therapist.
(So, go see your therapist and leave us alone, there's a good girl.)
It's 80 degrees. It's too hot to take a bath.
(I give up.)
Very wise, very wise indeed.
I put up the plaid flannel sheet over the patio swing so I would have a bit of shade out there. The sun beats down mercilessly as we have no back porch yet. I have brought out padding and pillows, so I was testing out the swing late this morning. I looked over at the Chanticleer Pear tree that was dropping white blossoms looking for all the world like a mini snowstorm and noticed that it has leafed out enough to be making a very decent patch of shade.
Robbie used to lay in that patch of shade.
(Now we are getting somewhere.)
(Wait a minute. I am NOT the therapist ! ! !)
Sigh.
I know, I know. I have gotten my literary devices all mixed up today.
It's because I have Writer's Block, Spring Fever, and I Miss My Robbie, all on the same day you see . . .