If you’re stuck someplace where it’s freaking cold, you probably hate me right now.It’s February, it’s sunny, and it’s 54 degrees here.
You may throw snowballs if it’ll make you feel better. I was going to complain about how I feel cold and how I’m sitting here shivering, but I don’t think I’m going to get much sympathy. I mean, a couple days ago it was 20 degrees warmer and we were driving around with the top down on the car. Somehow I don’t think my current discomfort matters a whole lot to anyone other than me.
But I do have some goose bumps. I could get up and change from a my thing thermal shirt to a sweatshirt, but that would involve actually moving. I just survived the commissary; I don’t feel like moving.
(Ok, the commissary was not crowded at all and there were only 10 retiree couples blocking aisles with their sideways carts, but I think complaining about having to go to the commissary is, like, the law…)
While I sit here and shiver and not get up to put on a sweatshirt, I am going to start laying out a new manuscript. By my cat. Yep, Max has been at it again and instead of a furball he coughed up a new book.
Um, he did too write it himself.
Sheesh, such doubters out there.
All right…enough procrastinating. Since it’s not warm enough to run around town topless, I might as well be productive. Max will write the dang book, he just won’t sit here and format the manuscript.
Lazy kitty.
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