I am ready to attend tomorrow’s SCBWI Writer’s Day in Thousand Oaks. I just finished submitting my printing order(s) to whatever Kinko’s is now called, so that I may swing by in the morning and pick up stuff that may come in handy tomorrow and pick up stuff I’m supposed to submit tomorrow upon my arrival at: Writer’s Day—our home still being A House Of 2 Writers, yet printer-free. There are reasons and explanations for this lack of a printer (although 2 printers currently live in our guest room)—but it’s Friday night, my writer-spouse is deeply asleep with the toddler in the toddler’s bed (spouse probably made it barely to the chorus of his nightly toddler-lullaby, Sweet Baby James, before checking out), I’m sipping that new Semillon that Trader Joe’s is frantic about, I’m anticipating a cookie and the latest episode of “Modern Family” before I, too, check out—many, many little witches and monkeys and Buzz Lightyears and pink skeletons and garden gnomes and Mickey Mice and Ohio State cheerleaders visited my home today and my home is still a lovely, post-visit wreck—the dog has been walked and is snoozing, loudly, in his crate—so—what, explain? Explain this: brain is oversopped sponge, yet insists on thinking.

Happy weekend. Happy Halloween! Must buy candy…