It is Saturday. There are 83 reasons to write and I want to procrastinate. Do you like to procrastinate? I love it. And I am good at it. Play to your strengths. That's what my Aunt Elma always used to say. Until the incident.
It is 5am. If I had a million dollars, I would not have to worry about this book deadline. I am so lucky to have a writing grant, but it's a double-edged sword. It creates expectations.
Have you ever read "Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens? My sister once told me I reminded her of Miss Havisham. If you have read the book, you know that is not a compliment. In fairness, it was because of my styrofoam wedding cake. My ex talked me into that. What kind of madness is that? No one could talk me into fake cake now that I am older and wiser.
If a man tells you that your wedding cake ought to be made of styrofoam, that is probably a Sign. Run, my friend.
Anyhow, it is now time to Produce something Sensible-ish. Maybe I will list those 83 reasons.
Maybe I should find a nice new man. Or a fresh cake.
