She wants it. She doesn't want it. Wait. She may still want it.
I think this is where the confusion finally sets in and I decide that it may be of good advice to temporarily exit the situation of the real estate world. If I was a doctor I would order myself to take a trip between the workers who don't want work and guys with great marketing but bad product and some type of internet behavior modification program I obviously signed up for without knowing it and preparing for Slater's move to his own apartment and do I even own a piece of clothing without a bleach stain on it, period, question mark, there is no way to correctly end this sentence.
I can't even write. I have to write. Wait. There is that story which has to be done by the end of July.
Yes. I am going away to write a story about a church and a wedding and I will learn to write again through some type of miraculous focus which will surely come from letting go of a list of chores which only grow longer as more are done and sometimes surely we must all slow down, period, exclamation point, question mark, who knows.
Last week over blueberry pancakes I asked my resident physics expert, So as the universe expands it gets faster, right?
Yes, he said.
Didn't need a book to tell me that, I replied.
Today I am grateful for the opportunity and the means and the awareness and ohmygosh I am taking a short vacation to do the work I want to do.
Of course, this right here is part of the work I want to do so I may have internet access, and, if so, I'll try to update. If not, I'll just have a nice little collection when I return next Monday. That you are still here is amazing. Thank you for your patience.