This post might be completely different written at the other end of the day.
RIM thinks that if I just get a good head of steam going and make some serious inroads into the jungle that is my laundry room and get something to eat and maybe take a walk and read a couple of chapters in my new book that the day could turn out alright after all.
CIM feels more like wallowing.
Because next to hibernating I am best at wallowing.
Scratch that. Next to hard-heartedness I am best at hibernating and then wallowing.
(None of these are very good in talent shows. It occurs to me that this would have been my only weakness on the pageant circuit, by the way.)
Sometimes when I'm in the shower and all that's facing me is a laundry room posing as a jungle I imagine the alternate paths my life could have taken. Beauty Queen is one I hadn't thought of until just now.
Suddenly I like laundry masquerading as the Amazon.
RIM just interrupted me to ask what it is I'm writing about and to nudge me toward breakfast. My blood sugar is clearly too low to be out in public.
But I know it's too late. I'm to the point where I can't even think what to eat. It's a lost cause.
If David were here he could make me a sandwich and then make me eat it.
But he's not.
Did I say that already?
No, I didn't. But he is. Gone, I mean. And so is everyone else.
Which means that the hibernation is over and this only leaves me with hard-heartedness and wallowing.
Which is a real shame.