I’m skirting the quicksand today.
In heels.
Blindfolded.
With a phantom case of vertigo strafing the stupid path.
In other words, I’m just this side of depressed for no reason
whatsoever.
Hate that.
Just saying.
My down moods are like big cavernous holes clearly marked on the map. I
usually know how to avoid them. I know which directions of thought to steer
clear of. Everybody has those places that they simply don’t go. (Don’t they?)
But sometimes a giant sinkhole swallows up the path I’m so carefully
treading, forcing me to do some mighty fancy footwork to avoid bellyflopping
into the dark, sticky muck.
This is fancy footwork time.
Oh, how I wish for a touch of Fred Astaire in my step.
Writing projects have taken a backseat today. (Yes, I realize this is a
car analogy, an erratic break from the hiking allusion I’d been referencing
from the start, but sometimes erratic breaks just have to happen. And when they
do happen you’re just giddy to find the crack-up occurred on the page and not
in the already flailing grey matter in the skull. *lol*)
Needless to say, I have stayed well clear of the galley proof for “Ravenscar.”
I’ll head on down that side road tomorrow. Hopefully by then the stilettos will
be kicked off, the vertigo will be returned to Hitchcok and the blindfold will
be back at home in the play drawer. *winks*
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
No comments:
Post a Comment