My muse is apparently off dosing herself with cocktails. I wish she’d share those, since she won’t share creativity or anything. I have all these things that bubble into my head, and then, when I have time to focus on writing and not loans or taxes or half a dozen other things, the demon of the blank page comes and lures the nifty ideas to their death.

Stupid blank pages.

The taxes are done. For the first time in years we don’t owe ANYTHING to either the Feds or California, which state had been trying to suck us dry. I’m surprised I don’t feel a bit wistful about this being the last year I’m filing California taxes, but I’m too giddy about not having to fork over money.

My laptop has decided that whether or not privacy and firewalls are turned on, I’m not allowed to visit Open Diary. The desktop, of course, has no such issue, but it’s not really designed for use in bed, and I do most of my blogging while surrounded by pillows.

I’ve forgotten what I really wanted to write about.

Is 10 AM too early for cocktails? I think I need one.

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