It seems to Miss Daily Writing Habit that she is and has been overwhelmed, unable to write or think clearly about all of the events of the past year. Happy events, to be sure, but so much so fast creates big cumulus clouds in her thoughts.
Her home, and its faint smell of vanilla and cinnamon, fragrance of owners past mingling with the cherry woodwork and plastic dusty ivy; going up the steps each morning to her green and white pin striped bath;
And although she's started Miss DWH she thinks somehow it doesn't plumb her depths, whatever that may be - and doesn't want the daily mechanics of DWH to mechanize, or anesthetize, her creative thoughts.
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