Greetings ol' Blog Followers (Davetta, Sarah, Mom)
Live update from Isolators Island (I.I. mateys)
I've begun to talk to myself. It started off slowly with things like, wow it sure is cold in here and, dang I look old; but I fear last night, there was a turn for scary. I found myself muttering from room to room, why did I even write this novel? And- I'll tell that editor lady she can do her own damn revisions. I even started referring to myself in third person. Look at ol' Ms Thing. Thinks she has what it takes to write a novel. Have you notice how old she looks?
You know, garden variety fear.
But alas, today is a new day. Anything is possible. I'm well rested. I've had my eggs and coffee. I downed a few Tylenol (Perhaps I'm too well rested and a tad late on the caffeine uptake). Regardless: I'm good to go.
But first I'll check facebook.
Then I'll move on to some whiteheads that beckon me.
Oh hell, I owe my loyal blog followers an update, don't I?
You know, it occurs to me that blogging, literary feats such as my patient novel, the lure of the mirror where I am free to ponder whether my eyelashes are thinning ... these are all the same thing. Mind achingly essential while utterly meaningless.
And then Ms Thing was ready.