We had the visit from our son.  Ditto from the old college friend.

I gathered all the relevant info and we completed taxes over the weekend.

I’m not sick anymore.  I’m not on extra taxi duty for the grandchildren anymore.

We survived the incredibly over-hyped blizzard of 2013, April Edition.

I dumped all my cookies and got my Mac to work faster.

It’s too early to plant stuff, unless I cut up the sprouting potato in my kitchen and put pieces into the ground, sans a full moon, and of course with a tip of my hat to St. Patrick, upon whose day potatoes are supposed to be planted.

The laundry falling over the edges of the hamper is just too lame to consider a real excuse.  It is entirely possible to type while nude, and I have clean blankets to wrap around myself when my teeth start chattering.

It’s time to get back to the book.

Kicking, screaming, eyes rolling back into my head, I must go back into A Signal Shown, the second book of the Wisdom Court Trilogy.  My characters are standing in the wings of my mind, arms folded over their chests, toes tapping impatiently.  Even the spirits haunting Wisdom Court have threatened to move to a different old house if I don’t give them some attention.

It’s not that I hate the book.  On the contrary, I love it. I’m crazy about my characters and I know they have tons to tell me about how the plot has thickened while I’ve been Taking Care of Important Things.  And writing will make me feel better because it helps control my inner virago, the one who monotonously shrieks, “Tell me a story, tell me a story.  Tell Me Now!”  Her I’m not so crazy about.

No, I’ve been riding the U.S.S. Avoidance for a while and it hasn’t pulled into port.  Much as it pains me, I’ll have to jump over the side and swim to shore.  If I can steer clear of subsequent grooming rituals, as well as word games to “get my ducks in a row,” I’ll actually get to the computer and Start Again.

First I have to copy edit this blog post.