Things are good.
We're about to leave for Westfest, and we're getting a ride, which means we can bring the puppy! Morty's going to have his bum patted by half of Westboro.
Also, my conundrum about never having time alone to write songs may have fixed itself. It came in the form of an invite to house sit for three weeks, and dang, if it means I can finish some songs, I'll be thrilled as a pickle.
(Pickles are thrilling, no?)
Also, it's hot out. I love that shit.