Space Log: Twenty-thirteen

 Oh, my. I’ve become one of those people.

One of those bloggers who only posts once in a while and then sheepishly slinks back to the Internets, hoping no one will notice how very long it’s been since my last post.

Go on, go ahead. Judge me if you must. I can see those pursed lips, that quizzical, Oh, are you still blogging? I didn't realize.

I deserve it. I do. But I swear I’ve got excuses a-plenty, and trust me, they’re extra good excuses that may or may not involve a very time-consuming fiddling duel with the Devil down in Georgia. (Charlie Daniels wasn’t the only one who’s landed in that situation.)  

I truly meant to blog this past week, but I’ve been digging out from the holidays. Like, literally. All I can say is thank gawd I had the foresight to buy the “post-holiday hell pit” attachment for my vacuum cleaner or else I’d be in big trouble. 

Resolutions, you say?

Sure. Yeah. I guess.

Here they are:

1)       Stop making fun of yoga and maybe do some myself because I’m about as limber as a saltine cracker these days. When I walk there’s so much popping and crackling in my knees it sounds like somebody dancing on a stage covered in bubble wrap. I’ve got to see what can be done about this.  

2)      Write an awesome novel.

That’s it. I like to keep things simple if I can. I’m already hard at work on the second resolution, and I’m very excited about my WiP. That first resolution may take even more effort especially since it involves the acquisition of yoga pants. Oh, boy.

Tell me two of your resolutions, writing or otherwise. I promise I won’t be all like this:

"Oh, really? That sounds ... promising."

(As ever, click on the post title to get the comment box to come up.)