I’ve been stagnant on the writing front lately.
Wet, dark, drippy, puddle stagnant. The kind you avoid stepping in for fear of losing your soul or even a shoe, a high top converse to be exact. Nobody puts [Chuck] in a [puddle].
We lost one of Ave’s pink Chuck Taylor’s last summer; probably on the bus in downtown Cleveland. One moment, a lovely stranger was complimenting her footwear and the next an entire shoe was missing, lost and gone, nowhere to be found and yet I have the lonely sole survivor in her closet.
Why is that?
I broke my Kindle a few weeks ago. I have no idea how, but the screen is suddenly splintered and unreadable. I snagged the Hubby’s machine and put my now defunct reader away. Every so often, I pull open my gray chest of drawers (usually to get my vibrator) and peek in on my lost Kindle, only to find the screen still severed. And still I haven’t thrown it away.
What is that about?
I have no answers today.
Instead I’m stuck in a world of writers block, mismatched song lyrics, and cold brew coffee, which is my way of saying this morning’s leftovers poured over ice, with a splash of maple syrup and a hefty does of almond milk. You should try it some time; it’s fantastic and way cheaper and less racist than Starbucks.