Don’t we all hate false springs? Just when you thought the temperature was rising, the land was turning green again, and the birds were singing louder, back comes the winter of your discontent. And all courtesy of a communication that you haven’t even read yet. Its very existence is enough to send the wind veering from west to north, and the accompanying snow flurries are soon snapping at you from its coat tails.
Am I being melodramatic? Probably, but don’t complain or denigrate me for that. It’s what writers are for, isn’t it? If we didn’t feel things more keenly than most people, we wouldn’t be writers, would we?And everybody likes stories.
I think I’ll get drunk. See you all tomorrow.
Damn!
No comments:
Post a Comment