Hiding

Despite all plans to be reckless and daring with my writing career yesterday, I found myself wedged behind an old couch in the basement hiding from Spielberg-ian aliens.

…

Ok. Not really. But in my screwy head it sure felt like I was playing Dakota Fanning to my furry muse’s Tom Cruise. (“War of the Worlds” reference here, folks. I haven’t totally lost it yet.)

Unstable, twitchy me was left in charge of housesitting for my parents during bathroom demolition.., um, I mean, renovation.

*pauses as audience picks themselves up off of the floor after laughing fits*

Yeah. You’d think they’d know better, wouldn’t you?

Oh, well. I did it. Outwardly I even did with style and grace. The workers were great. I was great. 

Everything was peachy keen.

Meanwhile, inside the old crooked noggin, I was a wide-eyed, jittery, on the brink of total mental obliteration mess.

Really.

Unfortunately, no exaggeration there.

*sighs*

So, needless to say, I got no work done, beyond clinging to my sanity, that is.

Today promises much the same. I’ll be lucky to be able to string two words together by tonight.

Stupid, stupid head of mine.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe