“I’ve been a terrible blogger lately” she says. We’re walking to her car, night has just fallen and I always hate to see her go. “Me too” I say with only an instant for reflection on just how bad.

She continues by saying “Life gets so busy, then when I have time to write there so much to catch up on it’s hard to find the beginning.”

Yes, yes.

I know that feeling.

The mental post-it’s I’ve made over the last month plus of things that I wanted to tell you are gone. Maybe thrown in a box with not-so-eco-friendly packing popcorn, maybe overlapped with a post-it that holds my new address, maybe crumpled up and discarded by my synapses for not being that funny/important/significant in the first place.

A month, gone.

Looking forward instead of back, we have the beach. It’ll be our first trip in the Mini (which = ample knitting time…YEAY!), a few short days on the sand with a blip of spa time thrown in for good measure, and a long painful drive back to reality.

Like Seth, I’m also trying to get some reading done both on the way/back and under the sun with the waves lapping at my toes. The bits I’m currently reading aren’t doing anything for me, with the exception of The Last Lecture which The Mc just brought home and will surely just make me cry. Because I’m a crier. It’s what I do.

So do me a favor and either friend up on GoodReads or leave a comment with your mandatory summer reading lists suggestions/demands.

Because really, if I have to go through the exercise of evaluating one more thing from soup to nuts - even what book to read - I’m just going to start slapping people. Hard, at random, and without alcohol. At the very least I’ll threaten it with great passion.