“Sam had picked apart that day a million times, tore away the meaningless bits like fluff. Only the stark bare bones of the hours remained. Heavy and blunt, each action fitting into the next with a design only a god could think up.” (Writhe, page 50)
With Pierce Brosnan and Linda Hamilton battling a volcano in “Dante’s
Peak,” I welcome you to my Wednesday morning.
It’s one of those days when I haven’t got a clue what to say. Writing a
new post twice a day every day leaves the old well a little dry from time to
time. So pardon me while I scrape the bottom of said-well in search of
something moderately entertaining or informative to share.
*scrapes*
*scrapes some more*
“Ow!”
*rips a freaking fingernail
halfway off*
*tosses Frank in the dry well*
*feels better*
Well, despite cramming my favorite specter of imminent failure (that
would be Frank) down a hole, I’ve still got nothing to share.
Chloe, however, never gives up. I might fold from time to time but I
always return, however wrinkled (Get it? The folds cause wrinkles… Yeah, I told
you there were darn tumbleweeds blowing across the plains of my imagination
this morning.)
Hmm… perhaps retreat is the better part of valor at a time like this?
Time to regroup, pull Frank out of the well and get a fresh start for the blog
tonight?
Yep, sounds like a plan.
Everyone is dismissed. Have a tumbleweed free day!
Until tonight…
Chloe
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