I have always loved to write: poetry, fiction, travel stories, angry letters. There was a time I could not get my pen to flow, now my brain won't stop. Not the ideas, just words. They come out of my brain like the line of clowns that tumble out of that tiny circus car. I try to express my gratitude, argue a point, or 'tell a little bit about myself' to a new group and somewhere around the forth rambling sentence a little voice says "You did it again". I can see it in their eyes, but seemingly cannot prevent it.

I miss July, I write two days then give up the ghost. I have been reciting a new mantra - don't compare yourself to others. Be yourself. I am still in the same job, the same house, in the same relationship. I bought new clothes. I now do my home-office stuff at work, because I never get around to doing it at home. My boy's band has played a paid gig. He has finished studying, I am unsure if he will resume. I have yet to finish knitting my sister's cardigan but have been making steady progress. Things are OK.

Y ~ Yard--yes or no? I don't do yardwork. Just not up to it. I have a gardener. Have a big yard by today's standards. A naval orange tree, Japanese persimmon tree, and olive tree in the back yard. And small apple tree in the front yard, as well as a HUGE aloe vera plant, bamboo bush, a giant bottlebrush tree, and my beautiful night blooming cereus plant. We call it the petting cactus. People walking along the street look at it, and always have to touch it. So hiliarious to watch the reactions. Don't know what they expect.