Cathy by Vic

That's me at work. That's my big burgundy leather chair that Dave bought me a few years ago for my birthday because he was sick of rubbing my back all the time. That's my picture of Sam, a self-portrait he gave me for Mother's Day a couple years ago. Those are my pants with the cuffs rolled up because even though I'm 5'6" tall, my jeans are too long because they sew for Amazonian skinny women, not me, and I'm too lazy to do anything as constructive as hemming my pants.

This is me, drawn today by my friend, Vic, who sometimes pops around the office and occasionally draws me because... I don't know why. Because she's bored, I guess, and she likes to draw. And because I'm such a good-looking subject. Hey, do ya blame her?

The picture is accurate except for one thing: I don't look at my blog all day at work.

I look at it occasionally.

Like, maybe once in the morning and once at lunchtime and once before it's time to go home. And maybe once in between. Or twice, but who's counting?

However, I WANT to look at it all day long.

Work gets in the way of blogging, have you noticed? Everything gets in the way of blogging. Housework. Cooking. Eating. Breathing.

I'm hooked. 

I admit it.

Six months ago I didn't even know what a blog was.

Then one night in bed Dave let a fart go that leveled the entire town of Bracebridge.

Seeking relief I came out to my computer and started a blog. 

Some day someone will ask me how this all began.

And I will have to say it's all because I live with Pepé le Pew.