Occam having daily life interrupt her writing. Too much social stuff interfering with this, my solitary pleasure. I've been writing since I was in grade 2. My first poem was about a cat pondering whether to climb a drapery or not. My housecat does not climb the drapes. I got him a cardboard claw scratcher which he loves. Especially when I sprinkle catnip on it. Writing is catnip to me. I get delirious over it. I dream about it. I don't care if it has no socially redeeming value. It would be nice if people read me. Occam's husband wants her to write that Great American Novel. It would be par for the course if I had it published posthumously. For now, I'll continue my blog, with its little poems, short stories, and comments on life here on the Double Barrel Ranch.
Had a hot day yesterday. Omen of things to come. The swimming pool is looking better and better.
Bought vaccine for West Nile Virus for the horses. Tiny vial, smaller than the size of an egg, came in the mail in a box as big as a Thanksgiving turkey. I hope it protects horses big time like that too. Everyone is getting crazy over avian flu and all other kinds of bugs. I am not exempt. I don't want a mosquito to bring down one of my horses.
This isn't as much as I hoped to write but that stubborn life is bothering me again.