No, I am not dead. Nor am I pretending to be one of those monks who makes the good fudge.
I started a new gig about a month ago, and I'm still adjusting to wearing shoes and proper undergarments all day. And that's all I'll say about it, other than the people are nice, it's a good situation, and I'm writing. The rest of it, nope.
What, you think I didn't learn from Dooce?
Anyway, I'm off to Cowtown in the morning, to frolic with the nieces and senior nephew, the parents, and of course, Greg-in-his-adorable-new-hut. G has kindly offered to be my date for Picnic with the Pops Saturday night, where we will gaze upon Wynonna and let her lull us into bliss.