Just write.

Okay, let's try this again. My motivation-in-disguise is the National Blog Posting Month, in which I'm committed to post thirty posts in thirty days. I tried this last November and failed miserably, if only because I'm such a rebel, that I even rebel again myself occasionally. I can't even tell me what to do.

I had the most luxurious nap today with lots of pillows and down fluff and a deep down bone-tired that lets you sink into bed and remember nothing but waking up hours later. And before that, the Man brought home alstromerias, purple and white, wrapped in tissue paper and ribbons. And a deli sandwich for me with all the trimmings, including extra black olives, just like I like. Oh, what an angel he was today, kinder to me than I've been to myself.

Let's talk about Brocante Home (see sidebar under "Blogs that Make Me Smile.") This is the kind of consistently funny and insightful writing that I don't know if I could duplicate if I wrote for a kajillion years. She has the kind of conversational tone that you can imagine you actually hear that lovely chirp of a British accent pouring from the screen right into your ears.

I've been working on a new blogging endeavor myself called "Letters in Longhand" in which I will be posting my (gulp) personal correspondence. I tried this once before, but it didn't catch on. Every one of my friends and family were mortified at the very idea that I was going to publish their writing, so they quit sending me mail all together. (: I'm hoping for better results this go-around. Go check it out (pretty please.)

Last night it was Shiraz from a crystal goblet, but tonight tap water from a Mason Jar that once held homemade apple jelly bought up in Talking Rock. True Southern Girl fashion. Good night, ya'll.