I think I now understand the real purpose of this blahg for me: it allows me to avoid what I really should be doing and yet still pretend I'm filling some purpose on this planet.



I am not fooled by my own subterfuge.



Right now, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, I am scheduled to be working on the second book in a 10-book series I have mapped out. The first book is in the hands of a close friend. He has read it once and offered encouragement. On his second read he'll be making notes so I can make it better. He may even take co-author responsibility if he feels inclined and together we'll tell an even better tale.



So here I am, sitting outside in the courtyard with my laptop, my black lab Boi at my side, and gentle music playing across Slacker.com. In this setting I should be mused out the ass and unable to not write. In a sense, I am writing. But I should be working on the second book.



So far today has been a very busy one. We skipped church to work in the yard. Next time I'll opt for church. It was a lot of work, but the compost pile is emptied and we have a whole new garden in place. I'm no good at estimating cubic volume, but suffice it to say it was a lot of compost.



A lot.



We now have a new huge flower garden. Well, the bed anyway. It won't technically be a flower bed until there are flowers in it. Get off my back, it was a lot of work.



OK, rather than offer pithy observations about spring awakening or the importance of being "green," I'll just get back to what I really should be doing.



What I really want to be doing.



Here I go.