I’m back home - with writer's block.....blogging block anyway.....far far away from myself locked behind petticoats of ice.....
with a mouth full of sponges - the fall out of being torpoedoed with novacaine yesterday for my broken tooth - my left cheek like a football moon....
and the wreckage of this month’s haircut fallling around my ears - a raggedy eagle in flight....annoying the hell out of me.....
and the cold, the cold...... reaching it’s blue fingers under my skin.... slowing me down to a crawl so that even a smile requires a mental debate....
From the darkness of the bedroom the white mound of my husband asks me how I’m feeling.
Rubbish I say.
Which seems to wound him.
I wish I could say full of the joys of spring and looking forward to supper and a movie.
Which of course I could if I slipped out from behind my icy petticoats even for a moment and laughed at my nonsense......
but that would require a decision...and might just catapult me into the broiling sea of anxiety always a hair’s breath below the soles of my feet....
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