I tend to write a birthday post every year. Sort of a State of the Angela Address if you will. Continuing with that tradition because literally tens of people care how I'm doing. Most of them are hoping I close the arc in my sci-fi series.
I'm 53 this year. I see no reason to be coy with my age. That's just a stupid denial of reality I refuse to take part in. I have a husband, four kids, three grandkids, three dogs and two cats. I have a home I love, a truck, a car, and a motorcycle I threaten my husband with death if he doesn't keep it running.
I love my family. We keep growing and hopefully will continue to do so. You can never have too many people poking into your business, wanting to know how you are. Trust me on this.
The writing is going great. I'm learning a lot from other writers who don't treat the profession as if it's a Secret Society like the Bilderburgs or something. I just finished the rough draft for Cautious Cat yesterday and will begin polishing it tomorrow. I'm taking a day to relax. I've already got the rough outline for the next Sci-Fi story and arc. So, the imagination is still working well. Thank God something is.
This last year, with the heart problems (I know! We were all shocked to find I had one, too!) was a trial. It feels like everything hits you at once. I think it hit the kids the hardest. Mom is supposed to be the steel girder that's always there to hold things up. We keep those plates spinning. Suddenly I wasn't and couldn't be. It was a scary time for all of us. I kinda freaked out when I was looking at triple bypass surgery, that was actually solved with one stent. Someone still wants me around, I guess.
I find myself still in love with this world. The people? Not so much, but the actual planet and other animals on it, hells yeah. We were supposed to visit New Zealand later this year on our anniversary, but due to some health issues, we decided to put it off until next year.
I would still love to see Tigers in the wild, as they are meant to be seen. I don't want to become one of those women who becomes too fragile to even leave the house. Even though I hate leaving my house. I want the option to leave if I want to. You know, like a cat.
So, I'm going to kick back with a good book and listen to STP's Dead and Bloated and laugh, because I'm alive.