In which our heroine returns.

And finds her blog quite musty and dusty and still. It was entirely empty except for the scrawled note she'd left on her last visit there. The missive was faintly wrinkled and bleached from the bright summer sun, but the writing was clear enough. Tittering faintly she began to read it and knew at once this simply wouldn't do. It enumerated things to be done and thoughts to be had and places to be seen. And oh my, she was so behind. But our heroine was possessed of a certain ruthlessness in times of such extremity. Swiftly she crumpled and shredded the tiny note and brushed it under the credenza. There. Much better. She looked around her small space again and felt soothed. Serene. Quite satisfied. Yes, much better.