Wednesday, January 7, 2009

"Future."  It gives me heart palpitations.  It turns out that "I want to write" is a less than acceptable  answer to the plans inquiry.  Turns out that  pursing my lips and throwing my eyes doesn't deflect the well-meaning questioners.  And it turns out that no one, wish as I might, is going to sit me down and spell out the rest of my life for me, probably because I don't have gypsy friends.  Fetch. 

1 comment:

  1. I think most of us feel the same as you--to an extent--you're not alone! Except none of us can say like you can. And P.S. the next time we have a Freestone's Indian food feeding fest, you're invited. Glad you have a blog.


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