So the post office finally delivered my long-awaited poop bags. Then Sir Waggington’s emailed me to say my next subscription order – every two months – would be shipped on March 4. I had to skip it, because I just got the first one, and I’m up to my eyeballs in poop bags (which I guess is better than being up to my eyeballs in poop, so I suppose I win).

Now that that’s out of the way. My writing is progressing along. I think I’ll be so excited when I finally finish this thing that I won’t care about publishing it, let alone editing it. I get that way sometimes… I win a battle, and I just want to walk off the field and pretend the war is over, too. Not this time, though. I’ll stay the course. Promise.

Moving on to a sort of non-sequitur, with a tie-in to a prior paragraph. My dog (who is responsible for the poop bag fiasco, indirectly, since they’re for her) always wants to bark at me when I’m on a conference call/hearing with a judge on the line. Thank the universe for the mute button, I guess, and for my husband, who made her go downstairs and blocked the stairs so she couldn’t run back up. She’s back with me, now, because the call is over and she started barking downstairs while my husband was making a presentation. Working from home, am I right?

Lunchtime.

B