And now the blogging must begin again.
Sadly, I have no new reviews for you, just the news that I am writing some stuff and reading even more. I wish that I had not left San Francisco (again), but I heard spring was coming and I just had to feel the sunlight come through my front window in that special New York way.
My bulbs are making green fronds and short, fat spears. I spent a period of this, my last vacation day, blasting them with budding beams. Don't those crocuses know that mommy needs a little sugar? Maybe if I got out there and stirred my compost pile it would show that I am committed to the development of their beauty. I figure two weeks more...
Doppelganger has a new list about books she's lied about reading. I want to wallow in the shame bath with her, but no books come to mind. When someone is all like "Don't you just think 100 Years of Solitude was the most beautiful book ever written" I just stare at their neck until they go away.