I've had nothing to say, just hoping some words or bits of inspiration will eventually arrive. Still tapping my foot, checking my watch, looking up the street...I think I spy a tumbleweed.
Oh. It's rolling away.
Although I've been out and about more than usual, I'm in full zombie mode. Achey and dull, I long to rest at a sanitarium, taking daily strolls, breathing fresh air, wearing a grey shawl. I'd bravely sip broth, work on a complicated needlepoint and daydream over a small pressed flower tucked inside an elicit novel.
Someone bring me a blanket already. Tuck me in, draw the blinds, and let me sleep for as long as I want.
Yesterday, I bought one of those supermarket watercolor kits -- the kind for small children: sixteen little pans of bright color, a plastic-handled brush in the middle.
Once I awake from my nap, I will put it to good use.
