So you want to know about my love life, do you?



OK, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm going to die old and alone.



What more do you need to know really? Maybe the reason I haven't talked about it it because it's just the same old sh*t, over and over. Just insert different acronyms.



And can I say I don't believe in astrology anymore? Way back in September, my horoscope promised me 13 months of "romantic bliss." Now I admit there have been moments of true bliss since then. But these moments s have been surrounded by a whole heaping helping of turmoil; I would venture to say more turmoil, than I've been through in a long-a*s time.



But, I've said it before and I'll say it again, WHATever. I have a book to write and I don't have time to mope around. Deadlines don't wait for broken hearts to heal. Oh sure, the publisher gets a clause written into the contract for Acts of God, etc, but me? I have my deadline and I have to meet it, come what may.



Meanwhile, not only do I work in a windowless office, soon I will be living in a bubble. Yes, my new and beloved condo will soon be - ahem - "tented" from head to toe for an entire f*cking year. I knew this was a possibility, but I hoped, prayed, that maybe they would do half at a time or some reasonable sh*t like that. In addition, I have to fork over a whole lot of dough so they can do this construction and cut off the light from my big south-facing skywall, my source of sustenance, my view of the Sound.



Perfect! Maybe I can move back in with A. and J, they who sheltered me during the Great Unpleasantess, who've seen me through many a Minor Unpleasantness, who are always there, rock solid, feeding babies and making peanut butter sandwiches.



They have windows, and I know they'll do anything to get a bigger part in the book.