surface

When I first met my husband, I told him straight away of my distaste for surface conversation. The kind where the only item of interest might involve a quick forecast of wind direction and air temperature, with a poke of a wet finger toward the sky.

I got lucky. He is no scratch-the-surface kinda guy. Though our meaningful chats can sometimes get a bit raucous, they are by no means boring.

And here, whilst perusing my blog in search of a direction, I've found little more than a damp finger jabbed to the sky in search of a breeze.

I've censored myself considerably. Unintentional. Yet true.

What began as a place to scrape off the goo from the soul, has evolved into just another kind of gum to get stuck in. How did that happen?

Some might say I'm a nice person. Too nice to think diabolical thoughts. Not true, I say. I think them, but I feel ridiculously guilty afterwards! Well, except for my going vigilante fantasy. Guilt-free on that one.

Maybe, I'm just tired. Staying up too late, doing laundry. The mundane. Inspiration is elusive.

(Yawn)

For now, at least, "the way is shut".