I pulled out my "goals" book today and discovered I've kept only one of my eleven New Year's resolutions so far. Not doing so hot, am I?

On the other hand, I got my novel e-mailed--all turned in to my publisher today--at 2 a.m. I didn't have "I will write a novel" on my resolutions list. Sure do hate when I leave out something major like that, because I derive so much sick pleasure from the teeny little act of crossing stuff off.

So I compensated myself by playing a game of old-fashioned Pac-Man. Okay, not one game. A couple of hours. I felt much better.

Probably because I've been writing a book, I've lost track of everything around me. Well, not everything. I did know of Anna Nicole's passing. I plopped down to eat my lunch in front of the TV the other day, and all the news stations were covering her funeral. I think she got more coverage than President Ford.

So I did know she died. But being sequestered has made me miss some major stuff. How major, you ask? Well, today I mentioned to my sis that allergens in Texas have been particularly bad this January. And she asked me in this schooled tone that exuded tact, "Um, did you not realize this was March?"