A Wormhole in the Space/Time Continuum.
Or maybe a coup du foudre.
I talked about writing fiction for several years. And I talked. And I talked. Not talking anymore. Buck and I have weaned ourselves from minute-by-minute hovering over the stock market before we became irreversibly psychotic, we walk in the woods and eat food to sustain physical strength, and we cook homemade food for Maggie because she has decided that is all she will eat. We talk to ourselves, even in the double shower. And to each other, of course. We use up legal pads, pens and printer ink at an alarming rate. For great stretches of time during the day and even after dinner at night it is like what I imagine a silent retreat might be. Not silent in my ear, because I usually have music channels (thank you Pandora) coming in via stereo ear buds.
Focus was my “word” for the year this past January. It took most of the year to achieve it. Feels like we have moved our trains onto an entirely new track. The word for 2012 may be “rebirth,” or “joy,” or maybe it will be a phrase, “stay in the river.”
Thanks for your notes (especially G, V and D-W).
Your über self-centered pal,