Boys have cooties and other things I knew in kindergarten

I sit here infected what is suspected to be a mutated form of boy cooties caught from my teenaged daughter aka Typhoid Mozilla. Hubby thinks she's been kissing on boys and has therefore spread the horrid boy cooties to our household as we are all sick.


Wait a minute.. I KISS HUBBY! And HE is a boy! *spits*

The point is someone shall pay for my illness, daughter or hubby. Hubby is crouping, daughter is puking and I have have been doing a combo of the above two the past few days all on top of a toothache mind you. But ill though I shall be, neither mucus, pain, nor fever shall keep me from my appointed blog of insanity. I will say that I do feel a bit better because Louisiana has decided to finally show her true colors, it was almost 80 degrees today. Yippee!

Oh yes, all of you northerners shiver and give me a glare, I so don't mind a bit. I bask in the warm glow of your jealousy. Oh wait, that's the sun. Hahhaaa! My mistake. *evil smile*

What was I going to say today before I got off track because of my illness and happy hippy shake about the weather which I have no control over, but will still brag about just because? Oh yes, words.

Words are something that will elude you when you need them the most. Slippery little devils that flit away until the middle of the night when you lay in the bed trying to sleep. Then they creep up and hover on the side of the bed and grin at you in an attempt to tempt you back to your keyboard to write. I've gotten more writing done at 2 a.m. than any time during the day. Why is that? Is there some sort of Muse Union that states You shall not write until after midnight, silly heifer, before then I'm busy being the Tooth Fairy. or what? I am quite sure there has to be a rule somewhere.

I want to petition to get that rule changed. I'm no spring chicken. I'm more a summer hen or if you must know, I'd rather not be poultry at all. I'd rather be a svelte animal, like a fox. Yes, a summer fox, clicking away at the keyboard, popping out her fab fiction without a qualm as to what time it is. But no! Here I am pecking away in the middle of the night with nobody for company but this evil gray cat who looks at me as if to say, "Get in the bed, you silly goose!" Look, at that, more poultry.. sighs.

I suppose it could be worse.. it could be not a creature was stirring.. not even a mouse. With him around that could be really dangerous.

So, I guess I'll keep yes, pecking away, whittling my WIP's down to the wire, getting to those words that are no less wonderful for their lack of length. Two tiny little words.

The End

Who said bigger is better?

Jenna Leigh