And then, on the seventh day, the Lord reminded me that nobody should eat the same thing for a week. I couldn't eat the red sauce anymore. I couldn't even think about it without my gums starting to emit warm pre-vomit mouth juice.

I'm having a similar problem right now. Not with red sauce. I'm back on red sauce. I want to shower in red sauce. I could baptize my baby in red sauce. 

No, I'm having love-it-till-you-hate-it problem with my own writing. I've been trying to carve out time to write every day, and doing it pretty successfully. I feel like my writing antennae is up and picking up signals. Throughout my day I think about how I could write a blog post about whatever is happening. I jot down notes and come back to them later. Blogging regularly is a way to exorcise the frustrations of Momming. But blogging regularly is also a harsh reminder that I can only tell stories one kind of way. I am now thoroughly sick of the sound of my own voice.

And if I'm sick of me, I can't help but wonder if you are, too?

Hang in there, loyal dozen readers and guy in Russia. 

I'm going to spice up my sauce.