How silly I was. I must be honest, I haven't been able to add to my book nearly as much as I want to. I know part of the reason is honestly because I try to do a bit of everything.
Want to see the trees I put up in my foyer?
How about the plate arrangement I have in my kitchen?
My chandelier and drapes I just hung up?
Not to mention the almost-finished garment I am crocheting, or the nightstand that I have primed, the sheets I have to return because I decided I am NOT using them for the curtains I want to make...
So to be honest, while writing is absolutely in my heart, (I seriously crave writing sometimes... like I know there is too much on my mind that I have to get out,) I absolutely have not had the intentional time of sitting down to write.
My poor book. You know it doesn't even have a name? Isn't that a sad thing for a book? It's like the unnamed puppy that needs to be loved and cared for so that it can become a loving, obedient dog. And it's as innocent (seeming) as a puppy, big eyes and all, looking back up at me from my computer screen saying "Please mommy, please come and love me."
Oh darling little (unnamed) book. I will take care of you soon sweetheart.
I just have to make a list and go grocery shopping... And I can't miss my favorite work-out class at 5:30 if I ever think I am going to lose weight. And I have to pick up a new can of spray paint so the primed nightstand outside doesn't bother the neighbors.... and pick up a new hook for the frame I painted... and do laundry... and make dinner...
All of a sudden I feel like I have officially orphaned my book... poor unwritten book.