August 2nd, 2015

The Red Tree

Still in Providence

I'd hoped to quickly write two pieces, one for Sirenia Digest #114 and another for #115. And it started well. In only four days I wrote "Dry Bones." And then...nothing. No second idea. I begin to think I'm reaching a point where I have simply told too many stories. The well isn't bottomless. People think it is, and they want me to think that it is, but it isn't.

So, sitting here for two days, trying to think of anything, anything at all, at least marginally worth writing, the black wave caught up to me again. And today I just have to get out of this fucking house, even though it means going outside when the sky is that threatful shade of cloudless, carnivorous blue. I don't know where we can go. You don't go to the shore on a Sunday, and thank you for that, tourons. And there are not many options in Providence.

But at least I will not be here.

This is the month we were supposed to be leaving Rhode Island. Now, I'm hoping maybe in October. Autumn is a nightmare barreling towards me.

And tomorrow is the day that tomorrow is, and yeah, that's part of this. Not all, but part.

From Facebook:

For many years I was afraid I was missing out on something, not having a smartphone. I wasn't. It's just another annoying gadget in a life already clogged with annoying gadgets.

Aunt Beast