Sorry for Vanishing Like That

I wish I could say I had been in the very center of writing and have many pages of productivity on The New Novel to report, but, I do not. I enjoyed the long weekend. I enjoyed my 9th wedding anniversary and received pearls. Then I came down with a hearty something that gave me a nasty fever and made me feel like death warmed over with an icing of absolute frozen frigidity. Today I am better. I am not well, but I am better. And, with being better I feel guilty. Why do I always feel guilty for being better? Maybe because there are no longer any excuses for not having time to do productive things.