Yesterday I went to visit my friends in New York and we spent a lot of the time there talking about writing and the creative process.
We also got to eat really good food, and see other friends, and reconnect after a winter that has kept us apart because there are mountains in between us and there has been, in case you missed it, some snow.
There was hugging and talking and catching up and agreements and disagreements and the kicking around of stuff. It was great. And then I got back in my car.
It takes me hours to get home, which means I have ‘in my head’ time which, I am telling you, is not for the faint of heart. At least in this head, with this brain.
And I got home and was welcomed by the dogs and kid and husband, and we ate and watched a new show called, The Slap (which is kind of maybe extremely cool (I need more episodes but I’m liking its literary-ness)) and then we headed to bed.
And at about 3:34 a.m. (well, exactly at 3:34 because I looked at the clock, through sleepy, and one oddly hazy eye (it’s better now)). I rolled over and felt a little bruise-y feeling in my thigh and I thought, “blood clot”.
Because that’s what you do at 3:34, in a half awake state, when the logic bits in your prefrontal cortex are only firing at half speed.
And then I thought, “Spanx”.
Because I was wearing Spanx this past weekend with some pretty snazzy black pants and I am telling you that I looked very smooth… which was the whole idea.
But, sadly, now at 3:34 a.m. I had a blood clot.
And I thought, “Death by Spanx”.
And then, “… on death by spanx”
Which would be how I would entitle the blog post.
Then, “I would have to write that post before I die though. From the Spanx.”
And then I smiled into my pillow, feeling awake by then.
Because if I was willing to die for my craft…
I must really be a writer.
Extra special thanks for readin’ (from the bottom of my heart).
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