Apologies to everyone stopping by for their usual plateful of whatever the heck I serve around here. Wit? Wisdom? Cheap laughs? I know it involves cats. But, anyway.
I’m taking a break.
2020 won’t go away. The calendar ticking over Friday isn’t going to magically improve anything.
Or unmagically either.
I’m damn near out of spoons, and the rest of the silverware drawer is looking rather bare, too. Which is probably just as well when it comes to the knives–but that’s part of the problem, as undirected rage and pointy objects mix all too well.
How long a break?
I don’t know. I’d like to say “When the universe stops throwing rocks at me.” Not lemons. Lemons I could work with. I like lemonade. But you can’t get lemon juice from rocks.
Realistically, the rocks aren’t going to stop. Throwing rocks is one the universe’s major occupations, coming in third behind creating vast expanses of nothing and turning hydrogen into helium.
But I’m hoping the frequency of metaphorical boulders heading in this direction will decrease over the next few months.
I will be back eventually. I’m not giving up on writing–fiction or this whatever-it-is–or on taking pictures of cats.
But right now I need to step back and concentrate on necessary precursors. Like following Gary Larson’s advice.
No predictions on when I’ll resume higher functions, except that, as so often happens, it’ll probably be later than I hope but sooner than I fear.
Until then, write if you get work and hang by your thumbs.