Friday the thirteenth has always been a lucky day for me.

I guess when I set the bar as not being burnt at the stake a good day for a Friday the 13th, it’s relatively easy to be happy.

I had a short day at work, which allowed some errands to be done and then I slid head first into my delicious addiction,

Writing.

It feels as indulgent as a rich chocolate icing, or a soft warm Brie.

As cozy as a shot of scotch and as refreshing as a January breeze.

I wrote my way right through the muddy middle of my novel and began the race to the end.

It’s not there yet, but I can see it looming close ahead, just a glimmer of light, inspiring me, making me think of nothing else.

Until at the end of a long day, after a lovely evening spent out with friends, I crawled into my bed grateful for such an enriching day.

As my three year old snuggled in and snored in my ear, I knew that it was a lucky day, indeed.