I’m blocked. What a time to lose my mojo, when there’s so much going on in this pea pod universe called Me.
Being tired doesn’t help. I stay up late reading excellent fiction and essays (Meta Watershed, the home for my brain and soul, these days. Pyosz, where have I been all your life?). I get up early to get Ry ready for school and me ready for work. Last night, Rocky woke up with terrible leg cramps, her poor little bones growing so fast, requiring 20 minutes of massage, 8 hours of cuddling and a dose of ibuprofen to alleviate. Then, just a few minutes after she stopped crying and fell back to sleep, I heard what sounded like a warthog rooting around under her bed. Ru has said she’s seen something scurry in there in the pre-dawn hours when she’s leaving for work, something she has sized somewhere between a mouse and a rhino, depending on what day you ask her. By the cacaphony it set up last night, I’m guessing we’ve got ourselves a smallish-to-medium-sized rattus rattus. So I spent the wee morning hours getting the live trap set up and trying to keep my cool, since the mouse-rhino was under Ry’s bed, and I was in with her. I’m not the least bit afraid of rodents, except when it’s dark and the rodent is under the bed and I’m just not entirely sure it’s not a shadowy fanged demon just waiting for my feet to dangle over the edge, because it knows I’ll have to get up to pee sometime.
And now, once again, I must put off trying to write what’s been wanting to get written, because I’m just too tired to words make out come unweird.