SO while I'm nowhere close to completing either project I forced myself to step away and drop a few lines.
I've joined some writing groups via the good old social network, I'm not sure how helpful they've been, but, if nothing else, my twitter and facebook newsfeeds are now flooded with writing prompts and questions, so that part is kind of nice.
I postulate that I am a fine example of a "country girl". I live in Alabama, I love Luke Bryan's bootie, I drink sweet tea and eat grits for breakfast, and I own a fine pair of boots made from Mexican leather...and yet, my life is a lie.
Last night I treated myself to an utterly lazy evening involving a bottle (yes, a bottle, don't judge) of pinot grigio, cheese (I love cheese) and a mini marathon of The Big Bang Theory. My illusion of a perfect night was shattered when what do you suppose ran across my kitchen floor?
A mouse. A horribly tiny, not in the least bit "cute", scurrying mouse.
I screamed, wailed like a banshee is probably more accurate, and leaped to a standing position on the couch even though the mouse in question was actually several feet away.
I stared at the spot on the kitchen floor, blinking and praying that I had been wrong, perhaps I'd had too much wine, perhaps I was just seeing things...it rn across the linoleum floor for a second time.
This time I could do little more than let loose an exasperated moan and squirm further back into the safety of the couch while I stared at the cracked linoleum, terrified it would make another appearance.
It didn't.
However I had a terrible night's sleep, I kept envisioning the mouse coming into my room and crawling into bed with me, don't laugh, they can climb walls.
In short all my grand ideas of being a "country woman" are gone. A good country woman would never fear a tiny ol' country mouse. They probably wouldn't freak out over grasshoppers either but that's another story...
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