I haven't written much these past five months. In any venue, outside of checks, permission slips and insurance applications.
Because I am happy.
Apparently my writing volume has historically been in direct proportion to my level of angst and unhappiness.
This is interesting. Or not. Depending on one's point of view.
A change of mental venue is definitely in order.
But there is danger. The safety cones are clearly labeled -
.....and like that.
Perhaps a sensory deprivation tank? Or a drug induced transcendental state?
There are more changes coming up. I'll write on them later.
Meanwhile I have the third spider bite from my current town of residence in three years to deal with. This one is on my face. There's a little angst -
~A hungry spider yesterday
~Took a very large bite from my face
~Left a venomous kiss
~with necrotizing hiss
~Then escaped at a very brisk pace.
...It's a start.