Friday Parentheticals

The muse slept late. (Four-legged, furry and 16 ½ years old, she’s entitled.)

I had to call the insurance company. On the phone. Talking was required. (Truly nightmare stuff for my brain miswiring.)

Royalty report arrived. And got trashed. Immediately and with great vigor. (No one wants to go there, alright.)

Add all those together and you get why today’s blog is late. (You also get why I’m on enough meds to choke a draft horse.)

Apologies.

Now, scurry on with your Fridays. (And have good ones for me, please.)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe