I’m on deadline. I have exactly 19 hours and 10 minutes, from this moment, to finish and post my last blog entry of the summer, One Last Breath. It’s nearly done. Or it was. Today, as I read the penultimate draft, it fell apart. Every writer knows what I’m talking about. And we all know that the work will be better -- much better -- in the long run for not having been rushed through a crucial transformation. But in this moment -- GodDamnItAll2Hell!! -- it has just fallen to pieces. This is the point at which spouses and children scatter. If they are wise. Pets, too.
In 19 hours and, now, 3 minutes I must get my ass dressed and out the door for my meeting with the shaman. Yes, I’m reentering the shaman’s version of My Personal Hell, also known here as boot camp for the woo-woo set. The shaman and I have agreed that I can post One Last Breath and then I will refrain from blogging for two solid months. So, as you can see, time is of the essence.
Off I go, then, scotch tape in hand, to finish the blog. I’ve got ~looks at watch~ 18 hours and 48 minutes. See you soon. ~Dina
Poets of the Fall – Carnival of Rust