The past six or seven weeks have been flu hell. I got every kind you can have, then added bronchitis to the mix. I won't go into the gory details, but I feel as if I've been on a bender I can't remember and had no fun at all in the process. Netflix was my saving grace, but I was so tired of being useless, I was ready to crawl out of my sick bed and clean house. The dust bunnies had finally won. Dog hair was free-floating like a skateboard gold medalist. Bless my daughter's heart, she did a big shop for pre-made meals, ran the vacuum, and gave me the shot in the rump I needed to start to rally.
So rally I have. One hundred and four pages into the new mystery. I'm thinking this feels like a series, and I'm liking it. Haven't been in the pool yet - I dread how out of shape I've become, and the longer I can postpone the inevitable moment of truth, the better.
I'll post bits of the new book, and if you'd like to tell me I've lost my everylovin' mind, feel free to do so. Speaking of loving', I hope your Valentine's Day was a good one. Ours was quiet - but sweet. My Beloved never fails to come through. The boy was raised right.