I should have posted my picture here, since I can't seem to hold to a thought for more than two minutes. The dogs are napping, which is perfect, since it lets me off the hook for feeling like I should be doing something. I realize that lately I've been missing being able to speak and it strikes me as curious that I should have lost that talent. Perhaps the challenge with sticking to a writing routine is that the only time I'm having a conversation that isn't in permanent edit mode is when I'm writing, and the computer or notebook isn't an expressive conversational partner.
I don't really understand why the art of speaking should suddenly seem so dangerous -- just offering an opinion, mentioning a shirt looks nice or that an idea isn't really as detailed or relevant as needs be feels like a dart aimed at a target. There is no criticism, just facile compliments and grunts. Forget speaking out, taking the other side -- no one has a bridge for that chasm. And so, I sit on every syllable and grow rounder with the dialogue that is swallowed daily.
Hence writing about nothing -- aarrrrggggg! The really quiet grunting was a dog hiding under the desk. Now that I'm awake, I guess it's time to call it an afternoon.
Chrissa :)
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