It is a rainy day up here in northern Virginia. My brain is mush. I am trying to do work, but my thoughts are running in slow-mo.
I am listening to Pink Floyd. That is never a good sign. When I am in the dumps, I like to wallow in it.
Day after day, love turns grey
like the skin of a dying man.
Night after night, we pretend IT’S all right
But I have grown older and
you have grown colder and
Nothing is very much fun anymore.
And I can feel one of my turns coming on.
I feel cold as a razor blade,
Tight as a tourniquet,
Dry as a funeral drum.
lol…the next song on my iPod was “Morning has broken,” by Cat Stevens. Talk about play list whiplash.
This entry is going nowhere. I was hoping that my muse might kick my ass once I started writing. Clearly I was mistaken.
