I got a job. I mean, not a job job, but it's not sticking my head and shoulders into the arse of an elephant either.
It's a freelance job for the next few weeks. So it'll be interesting, once again, to balance the blog and motherhood, writing, life and work, even if that work is only from 10am to 4pm and I don't have to get involved with office politics. (Knowing me I will be too shy within these two weeks to ever put my yogurt in the fridge, eating my lunch instead at room temperature and iffy, home in a jiffy should things spoil.)
So that's that, my friends. A half-assed post on a half-assed gig on a Monday that I start my period. What more do you want at the end of this post? An apology, a warning, a precursor to something, an ish at the end of a statement. (Hopefully you won't even notice that I am gone. Kinda' sorta' half-time, juggling balls that are not quite full; like footballs, no way of knowing where and how they will bounce.)
*A MUST READ only if you are waiting at the mechanic to get your tires aligned, or possibly in a Christian Scientist Reading Room, though truth be told I have never set foot in such a place and perhaps they have stacks of good porn in there, who's to say?