It's been an overwhelming last couple of weeks for me so I do apologise to all those who have emailed me or written on my wall, or written comments or posts that I've yet to respond to. Especially my co-bloggers who have made sure my absence has not been notable.
See my life is awfully busy at the moment, almost as busy as the Barbie to my right here. Sadly I am not possessed of her flare for colour combinations, as my dressing achievements have been more about what's clean than what goes. And my hair has never looked that good. Nor my computer screen that blank.
Plus I think the two longsuffering pot plants in my office may soon shuffle off their mortal coil, rather than producing a profusion of cheery blooms.
I'm not writing to complain but to explain. Downtime has been spent on family, illness and Robin Hobb books. I've been musing on the modern wonder that is sick leave; fine thing if you can get it, even finer if you can take it. And it seems to me that getting to do the work you've long wanted to do is the beginning of a short journey to Burned Out Town unless you can learn to pace yourself just so. I'm still at the undergraduate stage of my studies there.
Excuse me while I go sleep a while.