Waiting for word on two more opportunities in life before I get back up on my feet. Laying low, pretending I don’t care much at all. Nothing worse, even at my height, than to pick yourself up and too late, realize you’re still in the path of the truck.
Deciding whether to renew with Typepad for another year or let it run out in October. Three years is too long sometimes to run forward into another. We’ll see.
Might, if I can, get away for a week, maybe a month to that cabin. In New Hampshire. Alone.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology