Heck. Writing book two is taking its toll on my calendar. I've given it a sound shake (the calendar that is, not the book but believe you me I've wanted to) flipped over a few pages, but still, it won't be May. June already, and here to stay. Resorted to chocolate drops. It's the only way. Lord, now I'm rhymin. Am I regressin? This time next year will I be back on mushin? And then a tiny embryonic flutterin? Stop. I want to get off. Maybe writing book two is just taking its toll. Heck.