Muddy Friday

In the Arkansas Mississippi River Delta, there is a peculiar type of mud they call "gumbo." Gumbo is incredibly thick and sticky and viscous and goopy and dark deep black and will suck your boots right off. Yet, that very same slop makes for very fertile ground.

In this inaugural blog, then, I will take this mud as my mascot. And hope that there is perhaps a point to the current nasty boot-sucking, soul-sucking goop patch we're going through.

I am hiding out again after yet another flurry of adrenaline-fueled work crap. These past few months have taken such a toll on me that I feel just flat knocked out, but most definitely NOT knocked up. More driving, more flying, more coming home late to messy house and sleeping husband and pets flying all akimbo. Is it any wonder that no little one wants to come roost in that? I don't think so.

The long stretch of TTC-fueled emotions running on warp drive has been replaced by......well, nothing. Dead air. This is actually a welcome break even though I know good and well it's a really big blaring warning sign. It's not for nothing that K. thinks I'm a good stroke candidate. When the alarm bells go silent, I probably ought to listen.

And I am, but the turnaround is slow and hard-coming. I feel like I should have one of those signs you see on semi trucks: WARNING: This Vehicle Makes Wide Right Turns.

Let's see if we can bring 'er on around.