Okay. So, here's the scoop. Sometimes life's disappointments just slap us stupid, don't you think?
I mean, one day all is peaches and cream, and the next day it is stale bread and curdled milk.
One day a brisk jaunt around the park is brilliantly invigorating and the next day a walk to the mailbox is hands-down, 100%, do not even think it, out of the question. Seriously, isn't the seesaw of life hilariously uninterpretable?
One day I am penning prose on the heels of JK Rowling (okay, so maybe that's a stretch), and the next day compiling a grocery list is not only impossible, it is documentable rocket science – completely out of my wheelhouse. Go figure. It will undoubtedly be crowned as Ripley’s Believe It or Not mystery of the century. Okay, fine. So, it won’t even be a blip on Ripley’s radar. Maybe I can proposition The Guinness Book of World Records.
Anyway, I read once that silence is the most powerful scream. Think about that for a minute. Chilling thought, isn’t it? What is it that steals our voice and takes away our ability to reason? I am blaming it on the "anesthesia fog" from my recent surgery because surely it is more than just a wounded heart and a bruised spirit.
Then again, it could simply be an overloaded fuse box in my brain. Does anyone know how to reset the breaker? It cannot be that difficult. But whatever this affliction is, I am patient ground zero. Isn't that a riot? Me... quiet.
Yet, today, at 2:18 a.m. the words just pour. There are twenty-four hours in a day, and my brain decides to spark in the pitch black, dead-ass middle of the night. Senseless mediocrity I tell you (can you hear my maniacal cackle?).
If the floodgates have reopened, I hope to tickle your funny bones with nonsensical nonsense again soon. Should you teeter on pins and needles with bated breath awaiting my literary genius? Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.
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