Writing prompt for today is pin cushion. Two words, like that. I always thought it was one. I guess if you’ve ever seen an allergist, you’ve felt like a pin cushion. Don’t they jab and scrape you with little needles? I don’t know; I’ve never been. I’ve often felt like I needed to. I tell you, though, my doctor sure don’t care to draw blood. And I don’t give it up easily; they always have trouble hitting a vein. So they make a pincushion out of me. They feel bad about it, though, so that helps. And I make them nervous because I tend to pass out if they talk about how my veins roll or hide or any number of circus tricks. I swear I drink all the water for twelve hours before, and no alcohol. I’m just a crappy veins person. But once they hit it, I’m a free bleeder. One of my doctors told me once that was because of my Irish heritage. I’m sitting on my porch, feeling every inch my age, with my glass of red and my Nora Roberts book. Oh well. I am who I am. I rarely read Nora Roberts…this is Dark Witch; I checked it out for Halloween. It’s set in Ireland so it appealed to me. It feels so late! But it would still only be 8:00 on “old” time…