The Guano Conclusion

Feeling terribly inadequate as a human being this morning.

The skies here in northern Florida continue to be gray and mucky. My nursery of seedlings in their “halfway house pots” at the back door stagnate in the constant un-sun. They are bravely holding on, but apart from my singular Sweet Pea who has a freaky “I am a survivor!” kink, the plants have not grown so much as a hiccup this last gray, heavy week.

This is all understandable, acceptable even. They are plants, after all. They need sun to “breathe.”

I, on the other hand, am a human being. I should not need sun to live.

When God made us, we were given all these handy-dandy tools to assure survivability in…

1.) a cave (I guess, in case your three-hour spelunking jaunt suddenly goes fubar and you’re forced to munch on guano for the rest of your really fun life),

2.) outer space, on the dark side of the moon to be exact. Just because there have been no documented attempts at this yet, you know there’s someone crazy enough out there to do it. (SIDE NOTE: not me.)

3.) the far northern/southern reaches of the world where the midnight sun is only the printable half of the story. (You won’t find “Land of the Constant Dark” on any travel brochures.)

So, as this last week’s constant gray skies continue to suck the life-force out of me with a bendy straw, I have been forced to admit that I am rather crappy at being a human being.

Alrighty-then.

Now that we’ve got that straight, good day to you.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Scrambling the Jets

Newsflash! Writing is not the same as working an assembly line.

*pauses as the world moans a consensus “Duh!”*

Please, just keep your seats a minute more while I pile some relevance onto that statement. I promise this will be brief.

Surprising to everyone, I actually worked on an assembly line one summer years ago (back when the mind hadn’t learned to buck so violently at that concept.) 5am to 4pm every work day, I put in my time and was a darn good computer innards put-her-in-her.

The point is, no matter what was going on in the world I got my job done every darn day.

I liked it.

It was good.

Writing, however, is way different.

My father is having outpatient surgery today on something relatively minor. But even though I am not logically concerned about it, my subconscious is panicking and scrambling the F-16’s.

Bottom line: It’s hard to write Revolutionary War-era romance while your choking on jet fumes.

So, I’m writing off the meager 156 words completed yesterday as excusable. After all, writing is not an assembly line.

Right?

Pretend with me on this one. The guilt is strong with me this morning.

But most importantly please keep my dad in your thoughts and prayers today.

Thank you.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe