Dear Scotland Co-Retreaters,
It is so nice to hear how people are doing since Laura’s Writer’s Retreat of Your Dreams! I wasn’t going to write as I was thinking, ‘Everybody knows about my messes already.’ Let’s just scratch that but, given this is a two-minute writing assignment I just gave myself, I can’t.
So damned sexy!
Adjusting has been like hitting a stone wall for me–without the buffer of two drams of whisky and a beer chaser. I’ve fallen and flailed, boob over shoelace, toe over head, yelling ‘WTF’. Unfortunately, as I repeatedly yell Help, my request appears in a thought bubble about four inches above my head; there is no attached sound byte. I keep cranking my neck back to look above me, to know when that changes. Now I have whiplash, sunstroke, and an acute sense of lauded invisibility.
Oh yeah! Visibility too. I can’t get rid of those damned yellow floaties hanging over me. Yesterday, on the bus, a petulant child read aloud my every single synapse-fire and then proceeded to edit my grammar and wordiness. One sunburned construction worker, two middle-aged nuns, and a little old woman–a dead-ringer for TV Ellen’s mother–were highly amused. They snickered and applauded the lad. I panicked and grabbed for anything neutral to think about.
A writing prompt! That’s it! I considered one, mentally mapping out the piece, then thirty seconds later knocked it and myself down. To which–as a good student on the art of disclaiming all I write while sharing it–I substituted the words we use in class.
“I’m so sexy!”
DAMN! HOW DO I STOP THIS? I’m looking like a pervert here! HELP!
Anywhoo. That’s me.
I love and miss you all! Plus, I loved spending those glorious, rich days with all of you. Please be safe (not a condom ad), healthy, happy and astute.