I sort of feel as if, staring down the barrel of 30 as I am, I should arrange to have a crisis, and roam the streets moaning "But what have I achieved!? What have I done with my life?!" and then perhaps join the Peace Corps, but in fact, I feel pretty good about where I am and what I'm doing. I have a husband, a house, a garden, an art career I'm ekeing out a living on, and friends who take my lunacy in stride. Who can ask for more?
In celebration, I'm probably gonna go out and go clothes shopping, a decadence I can only justify a coupla times a year, and then James has promised to make Death Chicken for dinner tonight, which has this sauce I cannot easily describe, except that if it were drizzled over a brick, people would fight to the death for the last structural bite.
And as always, a thank you to y'all for enduring another year of my ramblings and brandishing of weeds and sharpening of axes and flinging of art!