Well, That Might Explain It....

Start with this one.

Not long after I pressed the 'send' button last, I succumbed to whatever crud it was that'd been stalking me. Which might explain why I was so 'something' at the time. (Sorry....)

I'm still up to my sinuses in it and will spare you any details, but I do want to say that I hope whatever this is hasn't found you, your loved ones, your co-workers, or that person who sat next to you on the train and asked to borrow your pen....

Because if it has, then my only suggestion would be to stop EVERYTHING, return to your nest, unplug your land line or turn off your smartphone, brew some hot tea with honey and lemon, grab the closest 'Flavia de Luce' book, and have at it. OK?

In case you're wondering, Flavia is Sherlock Holmes if Holmes was (were?) an 11-year-old girl living in the 1950's on a once-grand estate in the fictional English village of Bishop's Lacey. She's obsessed with chemistry and poisons and death and sleuthing. She has her own laboratory! And a trusty bicycle/steed named 'Gladys.' I was first introduced to her via a library discard that I rescued for 25-cents because I simply liked the title, and it just so happened to be the first in this fabulous series. I've since gone on to read others but I'm careful not to burn through them, they're that perfect. (PLEASE, Mr. Bradley, DO NOT STOP WRITING.)

Once you've found your book (doesn't have to be Flavia, but you'll thank me if it is) unplug, brew, read, repeat until all is well once more. Because you deserve this and because I firmly believe in Time Outs for one's mental and physical health.

Shutting up now and returning you to your regularly-scheduled program and me to my regularly-scheduled Flavia and chicken soup.

Later, my friend.
(((heart)))
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