Via Patellae

Gettin’ into heaven before the devil knows you’re missing.

I am writing and I am thinking and this is the best peace I know.  I need more time to do it and experience it and center myself, root myself in it.  I want more time and I’m being petulant and petty at work because I don’t have it.  This is not a solution, but I need to think out a solution and naturally, that takes time.  So in the interim, I am a bonafide asshole slung between two very polar worlds.

Work was stressful.  Dangerously stressful and I can’t talk about it, not even here.  Eminently survivable.  Nothing’s wrong, really, it’s just happening and I have to be quiet about it which is extra stress.  I focus on little things that are both good and bad and blow them up to epic proportions.  The glories of compliments on my blonde hair.  The terrors of eating a burrito without any will to stop.   My guitar rock goddess potential when I can’t even find a guitar pick in all my piles and piles and piles of unimportant but yet maintained crap.  This story mattering to someone so much they write their own stories.

You get spun off in your head that way.  You excuse yourself from life via reverie.  The brittle bone man understood these things and was able to change a girl.  I understand these things but sometimes, when I most want succor and protection and feel least able to access it, I choose to pretend it’s not true.

I am making choices all the time.

So.  I am being vague and annoying and I apologize.  I should use this space as I have done in the past for story, but that seems like a bad idea if and when it should come to pass that I publish this megalith.  Also, you don’t know these people and it’s my job to write their introductions and softly draw you into their strange world of murder and mayhem and psychic peril and sensitive, genuine love which may or may not be a Twilight ripoff (I swear I had palpitations about this last night as I was working a few things over in my head.  But the key is to write a terrible book and then edit it, which I suspect, was not how it worked out for Stephanie Meyer [though I should not pass complete, pop-culture induced judgment on a book I’ve personally never read).  It is also quantifiably easier to write about the book than it is to write the actual plot and story and characters so I might as well get all the horn-blowing and self-promotion out of the way so I can just start putting crap on the wall.

I am sorry if I disappoint you by not emerging from this cocoon. I’m sorry if you figured me as one of the ones who would make miracles. Somedays I disappoint myself.  But I see daylight around the bend and, not knowing what else to do, I crawl towards it.

Today: 155.2
Yesterday: 156.6
Goal 153 by July 1