Reality

It's not that words are failing me, that's not at all why I haven't been blogging.

Work is taking a lot of time, as is my book, as is, you know...LIFE. 

I wake up at 4 each morning, edit 20ish pages (or dick around on Facebook, depends on my mood), hit the gym, go to work, walk the dog, cook dinner, clean and pack lunch for the day, then pass out and do it all over again.

It's a stale routine, and I've been considering becoming an alcoholic or starting some sort of crime ring just to stir things up. 

But then, you know, who would take care of the dog?

I had a quasi-breakdown at the beginning of the week, on the tail end of a never-ending cold (I blame my recent trip to Utah, that shit doesn't fly here in SoCal).  I woke up Monday morning, after a night of endless coughing, thought of everything I had to do that day, realized how tired I was and how shitty I felt, and thought, fuck it, I'm staying home.

I normally try to power through such days, but the will to push through just wasn't in me.

I called out sick for two days, parked on the couch to edit my book in between coughing fits, lay out in the sun, and let the dishes in my sink pile up.

I didn't even change out of my sweats.  That?  Is how you know I was sicker than I've ever been.

Basically, this is me:

Except, you know, with way better hair and cheekbones.

And way more drunk on my face.

Have I brought you down yet?

Don't worry, I'll buck up soon, because that's how country girls do.