The sun has finally come out, and despite the fact we were wakened by Dido being sick and that a literary agent said my book was superficial and predictable, life is good.
Except the literary agent thing. Ye Gods, I feel like the woman socked me in the stomach. No matter; 'Alice and Sam' continues.
We are having people over for dinner tonight, which means I have to clean the kitchen floor. Light-gray linoleum; why, oh why?
But the sun is out, and the smallest tomato plant thriving, and surely the peas and the beans will poke out any day now.