Thursday, October 31, 2013


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 -

Thusly motivated:

~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.

1 comment:

Terri said...

the poem is witty, almost hilarious...but the bite, no, that is not funny at all. we had a spider infestation at our house when we moved in, but we also have cats and dogs who apparently take care of those creepy crawly things before they can bite us. Oh, and we are not afraid to use our shoe on 'em. The little blond white house spiders though, I let live. They'd break a fang on skin before inflicting much harm on a human.