Not writing. Not really reading. End of current rental: May 30. Just driving from one bland rental space to another, every day, until they are all a blur, climbing across stairways and walkways, yards and driveways, trying to find a place 1. that allows cats, 2. that doesn’t have holes in the floor, 3. Doens’t smell like something died in it, 4. Is within our price range. Note to self if self ever gets time-travelling ability: don’t move to Seattle seven years ago. You’ll never be able to afford it!
My asthma’s been acting up, etc. Not sleeping well. Also, freelance work has overwhelmed me, just when I’m in the midst of everything else.
So, don’t expect anything witty or bright or interesting from me until after I’ve moved. I’m in guarded survival mode. Tauruses like stability and routine. So, expect me to be mean as a wet cat til I’m entrenched anew.

Sorry for the complaints. I will be back to being happy poet girl at some future time. Or I’ll be one of those crazy homeless people eating grass. One or the other.