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It still freaks me out a little bit if I don't write something every single day. I think that's left over from that one crazed year where I *did* write every day. Agh. That was a lot of pressure. I love to write, but the HAVING to write... that was crazy. And now I have to just give myself permission to say "Hey, it's okay to just not write. The world doesn't end."

I was fried by the time I finally got home, so I turned on the baseball game and collapsed in the chair. I woke up at the bottom of the first inning. Zzzz. The picture is what I saw when I opened my eyes.. I love the way the sun hits that curtain. Also: SUN. Someday we'll see it all the time.

The bombings in Boston. Ugh. What's wrong with people? Why does this happen? I can see where agoraphobia could become an option.

When ragazz' got home last night I'd awakened from my chair nap and was in the middle of taking everything out of one of my cupboards. I had an attack of "SOMETHING SMELLS FUNKY IN HERE." It's good to clear everything out, because, hello, Mr. Forgotten Bottle of Ranch Dressing. Ew. But - bonus - my cupboard is way more organized now. Win.

See? Sometimes there's nothing to write about. Sometimes there's a topic to write about. Sometimes there's just random stuff to write about. All good.