Finding Ellen

It's been forty-five minutes since the dog and I returned from our late afternoon "smell walk." She's fifteen, old by dog standards, and so we took our time investigating overturned rocks and errant leaves. There's really no rush. The washing machine gave up the ghost yesterday afternoon, and so there's no laundry to do. No dishes to wash or floors to clean. The toilets are clean enough. Walt's on a trip tonight, so no dinner to make or small talk to fill the evening hours. There's absolutely no reason not to start on my next novel, so why am I stalling? In the 1990s, I worked for a company in Dayton, Ohio that sponsored a short-lived women's networking group. I don't remember much from the group save one specific talk about "career derailers" that focused on how we're our own worst enemies when it comes to managing our careers. The talk was focused on women in the workplace, but it applies to all of us. I know that if I were to l