I wanted to write about that big bug building a nest in the sunporch, buzzing around me while I hang laundry on the line.
Also about nests, I wanted to write about the barn swallow family moving out. Got pictures too.
I wanted to write about Brad Pitt's beard-ectomy.
But instead I'm going to saddle up a horse, move some s**t, and then do a trip into town to return an extra kid and fill the trunk of my mom's car with groceries. Okay, technically, I'll change and wash my hands, THEN go into town, take the extra kid home, go to the tack shop next door, and then all those groceries will end up in my mom's kitchen.
And I've already written more than I had time to write.
Okay! Sheets on the line! Spotted gelding wearing a saddle! GO!