My knees are killing me.
I'm not allowed to talk about them. Mom once threatened to cut them off if I brought them up again. Seems Dad had bad knees, too, and she's just tired of hearing about it. Must be the weight of the turtle shell. Hard to carry around the troubles of the world and keep your knees healthy.
The return of humor indicates (I hope) a return of some much needed emotional balance. My diabolical plan to give my troubles back to God seems to be working. I'm glad He's willing to take them.
I don't have much to say this morning. Mostly I wanted my dear readers to know I'm alive and well (eggs that rattle when you shake them are not edible, FYI) and moving forward.
I'm nearly done with Nor Iron Bars a Cage by Caprice Hokstad. I'll have to post reviews here and on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. I'm just glad she has book three in the works. I do like the world of Byntar.
I need to write reviews for Fred Warren's The Muse and Odd Little Miracles, too. And the Iguana's Winter. That's been my reading so far this year. I also need to edit Elementals based on all the wonderful feedback from my crit partners. It's past time to write a blurb while I'm at it. Can't believe I don't have one yet. That's supposed to be the first thing you write. And I've decided to get those author headshots out of the way while I have mostly decent hair. Who knows when some mad barber may attack me in the night, shear my beautiful locks and plunge me back into the pit of hair despair?
Man, that's a lot to do. Maybe I'll just go back to bed. If I stop blogging now, I could get an hour.