Days.

I had a long post lined up this morning, all written in my head and raring to go. It was a rant about life – not life in general, but my life in retrospect. It was one of those dark, acidic rants that are quite entertaining as long as it’s somebody else who’s being dark and acidic, and the reader can smile benignly because they’re feeling light and mellow while sitting in the sunshine luxuriating in their morning coffee. It didn’t get made because there are certain things I would be happy to say to someone who is in tune with me, but wouldn’t be happy to throw around on a public platform. It was a good post, but it didn’t even get typed up.

And then things began to go wrong…

It started raining just when I didn’t want it to, the car threw a wobbler (curve ball to the DYs) which might or might not presage its doom, the rain continued all afternoon and into the evening, my anticipated call from Mel didn’t materialise (which I later discovered was because she hadn’t realised it was Tuesday,) and then the computer threw a different wobbler from the ones it usually throws these days.

My mood declined in consequence, from dark and acidic to… whatever comes below dark and acidic. The whimsical alternative post – about the difficulty occasioned by cars with bench seats at the front – seemed suddenly out of keeping with that mood, and I do so like to be in harness with my mood when I’m writing.

And the priestess sent me an email last night. That always shakes me up and the dust rarely settles quickly. I hope she dreamt about me last night in Sydney, but she probably didn’t. As for Sidney, well… (That’s an in-joke which brings me back to life – and that’s a double entendre, though not a risqué one. Where am I going with this?)

Ah, yes. Posts aren’t important. Only perception is important. If nothing else goes wrong between now and bed time, I might stop by and say goodnight.