Dead Letters.

Today, my work laptop up and broke down. Apparantly, it couldn't take another minute of my purple prose.

The good news is, it's currently being revived. And the better news is, not a word of that purple prose has been lost. It's all being retrieved, and that's a good thing, because the past three weeks of changes I've made to my 350-page manuscript is found on that computer, and nowhere else. It would have been horrible to recreate all that I've done this month.

The upshoot is that aside from sending out holiday cards to reporters, it was sort of hard to get much else done today. Which gave me some free time, while Corb was driving home from work, and before the kids came over. Of course, being the hard-working person I am, and without work or novel to distract me, I used the time constructively. And so, rather than build an addition to the apartment or anything crazy, I did what any red-blood American male would do:

I spent some time looking through a folder of emails from old boyfriends.

I tell you, that period of time between Josie and Corb was such a ripe period. And by ripe, of course, I mean, squishy, rotting, and just plain stinky.
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