Maybe spring has been a long time coming, with too many in-between days. Maybe I've overdosed on too much Treme and family tension. (Maybe its my crush on Michiel Huisman - I'm old enough to be his mother. I should be ashamed.) I'll chalk it up to spring fever. And squash the fantasies of "running away from home." My skill set is limited. There's no hidden busker in me. I don't tell fortunes or do splendid chalk drawings on the sidewalk. I doubt if my pastor would write a letter of recommendation to some parish in Louisiana - not that I have little to recommend, but someone who packs up and runs away from what's bugging her doesn't deserve a recommendation. And I know I crumple at the first hint of humidity. But one can dream a little...
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