I didn't mean to worry anyone but apparently I've been light enough on words this week that people are becoming concerned, first with my trip to New York and then relative radio silence thereafter.
I would love to write endlessly but right now I'm a little fed up with myself. I've been sick. More than a little sick but not sick enough to warrant antibiotics like both kids and all of the boys, just sick enough that I want to cry and don't have the strength to stay awake or open jars or anything since I came home and when I sit down to write it's an endless stream of complaints and I'm just not feeling it right now but as soon as I decide I don't care what it looks like or I feel better enough to actually fill you in, I will.
I generally still write more than most bloggers so if you're so enamored that you get mad and/or worried when I don't write enough to satiate you then by all means, pass my link along so I can get a big old book deal for writing my heart right off my sleeve and let's get some quality literature out there instead of an endless supply of bullshit crap like 300 Sandwiches or Brit + Co. Make Sandwiches or My Cat Is Trying To Make Me A Sandwich or whatever the fuck is up there now on the #&#@@%* 'bestseller' list.
Oh right. It was Overheard in the Elevators at Conde Nast/Facebook/Google/Goldman Sachs: A Conversation About...Sandwiches.
Thanks! But thanks more for your sweet concern. Sometimes I feel like you come for the schadenfreude and then I realize you actually care. :)