Weeded

No, not what you think. Even if I wanted to partake of the green herb, it’d kill me. The joys of having asthma since I was a small child – you never worry about smoking being a temptation.

I mean weeded in the sense of struggling to get caught up.

Since moving into the new apartment, I feel more like the shadow following the man than the man casting the shadow. There’s people I need and want to talk to… I can’t get a hold of them or get time with them, but others who I haven’t spoke to in a bit (Sainted Bitch, Sir Wolfgang to name a few) catch up with me, so time is given to them.

I’m dying a little not working on BP #2. I can’t blame work-work. There’s plenty of that, but not so much that it buries me. Everytime I turn around, ready to write, its time to sleep or something jumps up that needs immediate attention.

Sure, it’s only been two weeks since I moved in, but it feels like two months.

I wanted to lock myself away in the new place this weekend. Communicate only through the phone and email Step outside only to throw out boxes as I unpack them and sit on my balcony and write.

Wouldn’t you know it, Llira is driving south, heading for a reunion with Millil (long story why they’re apart – nothing bad, just a big transition phase. I can sympathize) and needs a place to crash. So I gladly offer it. And it seems The Heroine is aware and may stop by to say hello.

I was hoping to get out of the weeds this weekend.

I may have to put the blade aside and switch to napalm to get out at this point.