Email is owed. Oh, is it owed. I’m getting right on this. I do worry that my chronic tardiness in responding may give people the wrong, wrong, wrong impression that I feel anything less than delirious when you email me. Seriously, it makes my day. More, please.
However, production of all kinds has slowed for the moment as the housecat has temporarily taken the upper hand over the ibook in the Three Years’ Lap War. I’m stretching to type this. (And so many uncontested surfaces available–but who wants those? Not cats, that’s for damn sure.) But as soon as the tide turns, I’m yours. The email will flow.