not much time to say it.
A pretty day, one sick child, one teething child, and one very happy, healthy child leave me without the time to write what I'd like.
There's this report about a tiny clue for heart disease. This is an article that I would have read with interest a year ago, but this year I read it wanting to have that type of crystal ball gazing for myself and my sister and my children.
In the comments of "What the . . .", Hoobie and I had a discussion that centered around what I am trying to accomplish by writing a sex scene into the novel and what others want from a sex scene in novels. My idea was to write a post about that. Alas, time has not been favorable.
Lastly, I know I said I wasn't going to write about my grief, but I will break that at times. There are days where I do my daily non-routine with my grief under control. It is there, but is properly dammed into a deep reservoir. For various reasons, a sight, a smell, a memory, a small hole is punched into the dam. The days in which something smashes a large gash are the most difficult. I wonder how many others I see during the day that have some negative emotion just waiting to breach that internal dam.