I've written. That isn't good. It does provide an indicator of how much I am in control of what really matters to me--at least what I tell myself matters.
The summer has been tricky. I broke my wrist about six weeks ago. That means I couldn't type, and so on. Couldn't even cut my own meat. Or take a shower. I have the cast off now. And I found a keyboard today that makes it possible for me to type. So I can't use that as an excuse any more.
I broke my wrist gardening--running up and down the steps on my deck. Sad. Because now my yard has been taken over by the morning glory. I should just declare defeat, and find someone to work on the yard.