The hiatus is still rumbling along in slo mo. I’m not getting done what I had intended to do. Why does that always work that way? Here is my logic: I’m going to stop writing on my blog, so I can accumulate my short stories into a book. Here is what happens: Go to Ross every day and look at their junk like it’s art in a museum. Buy nothing. Just look, and then, decide my jeans make me look fat. Convince the Big Guy I need to go to Nordstroms rack for an emergency 9-1-1 jeans purchase.
After that, I spy on the neighbors. What for? Can’t answer that because it’s a covert operation. Translation: I have no idea. Laugh my butt off when a raccoon goes through his open door at 2am and tangles with his 6 purebred Dachshunds.