I’m tagging along with my husband on some work travel. I flew across the country yesterday evening, drove for an hour through the dark to our hotel, and collapsed into bed thinking, “While Geoff’s at work tomorrow, I’ll work in my room. I’ll get up and blog, then finish my manuscript revisions, and maybe even have time to revisit a short story.”
Then I woke up this morning, looked out the window of my hotel, and saw this:
And since I happened to have some of these on hand:
I really didn’t have time to blog today.
And my manuscript revisions can wait a few more mountains. I mean days.
(And yeah, I was a teen in the 80s, I had Morrissey on cassette, I know the words that follow “There’s more to life than books, you know,” are “But not much more, not much more.” And there are some days I’d agree. But not today.)