Occasionally I ask myself “What are you writing?!?? Pelting squirrels and fuzzy cat buses?!?”
That is usually when I can feel myself “filling in”– you know, writing something that isn’t exactly the truth of what is on my mind.
I guess I “fill-in” on the days when I need to talk, to spill it, but I just I can’t face the deep well. Like the days when the hurting thing eats at you, so you eat a Three Muskateers, to get by.
It isn’t a diet I’d recommend full time, but a little nougat never killed anyone, I reckon.
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