Right now, this very minute: oy.
The specific mix of this specific oy: wanting to laugh; wanting to whimper; wanting to go back to sleep and find out what happens after the friendly deus ex machina of dreamland hands me the piece of stone. A very specific piece of stone; no, I’m not sharing its specificity with anyone. Deus ex machina told me nothing about secrecy; he didn’t have to.
The rest of the oy: messy drafts; blogs I’ve committed myself to put online (why? who knows; because better than playing tiddly-winks? who knows); the Wednesday work marathon awaiting – nine (9) children between the ages of eight (8) and thirteen (13), at odds with reading, writing, ‘rithmetic and vast segments of reality, between me and coming home to the messy drafts tonight.
Current draft: What if I change her name, and move the story to another town? Or, wait. What if… The piece of stone. Yes. Right.
Oy.
