Fiction's up, over on What if?
Grrrr…I hate being a vendor. Just emailed in a mess of invoices, and got back:
‘I wish you’d sent these a few days ago when I was cutting checks.’ Grrrr…I’m not psychic (well not that flavor of psychic anyway).
So I’m just pacing around the blogosphere today, like a tiger in a cage. I should be outside in the garden, but I’ve already weeded everything and it’s that awkward weather time -- past planting spring crops, too early for the heat-lovers. My garden is an awkward tweenager.
Maybe I’ll just go sit and think. Stare at the Existential Fence and put myself on the other side of it.
I keep forgetting to do this.
Before (Taken a couple of years ago):
70 labor-intensive hours later: