Panic

I surf blogs, as I have mentioned before, and many of them have the niftiest templates.  I consider that stuff way too techy for me, but today I had to fiddle around.  There are so many that offer all these free templates.  I wonder why.  If you like it you are not going to go back and pay for another are you? 

So I found one that seem just creepy and personal enough for me, liking to make statements as I do, but not wanting to be accused of trying to make a statement.  Caged, getting free, kind of gothic, kind of worn around the edges.  Anyway, it showed up all cattywhompus and I couldn't figure out how to adjust it, and then I tried to get rid of it, and was able to, but no, it was still there.  I totally feared that I would have to start over and develop a whole new site, and was worried if I could transfer my archive and it dawned on me how important these words, or this expressing, is to me. 

Finally, or at least at this moment, I think it is showing up pretty even.  I had a lot of hits today tho, and I am sure they think I have flipped.  No.  I am sure anyone that has visited here at least once already knows that. And that is probably why they keep coming back.

Anyway, I mowed the lawn yesterday, and it is rather a large lawn if you go back to the creek, which you are not supposed to because that area is supposed to be available for the proper native wetland plants to thrive and do their soaking up the water thing, but the neighbors on both sides mow to the creek, so I do not want to rock that boat, being neighbor to this family being burden enough,  and I love the endless yard kind of effect.  So do the deer and the coyotes, and the foxes. But what I am getting at is this nerve thing going on in my hand that feels like you forgot to use the pot holder when you took the cookie sheet out of the oven, but only in this very localized place between two fingers, and Fran gave me two Doctor Layton games for my birthday, so I have been on DS way too much lately, and my hand hurts like a son of a bitch, so I feel like currently God does not want me to write.  He also does not want me to pick anything up off the floor as He always makes it fall at least once and  then makes me do it again.  Aging is such pain.  Literally.

I need back story for my non-dystopian, post-apocalyptic novel.  Any suggestions?  I am on the verge here.  I promise!  It is bubbling up almost to the edge.  I know it.  And I feel that what I do will be the right thing for me to do.  That is what I should have been telling myself all along.  I don't have to be who people think I am anymore.  Maybe trying to cut back on those meds was not such a great idea.

So how do  y'all feel about the single space after the period rule change thing?  I don't really care one way or the other, but the two space thing is very deeply engrained.  Think for just a moment on this.  If I could get used to doing only one space after  the period, how much wear and tear would I be saving on that fucking nerve in my finger?