It feels like I am just along for the ride…not really in the driver’s seat but not really asleep across the back seat either. I get to watch, see everything that happens but I can’t really make any decisions or big moves on my own. It’s like I’m floating down the middle of a moderately moving river…waving to friends on the shore, hearing their shouts and their encouragement but not really being able to get to where they are; to be close and just as I think perhaps I might, the current catches me and I’m off in another direction although not rushing away…but rather, slow moving, slow motion. It’s like I come to a fork in the trail and have to decide which one to take: the one covered with two feet of snow or the one bogged down in marshy mire. Gotta make a choice. Good luck with that one. It’s like I love the sunshine and summer warmth but find myself in a basement suite with no windows to speak of and a coldness that makes my bones ache and my eyes hurt. Thirty degrees? What thirty degrees? I have wool socks on and most often, a sweater. Just going with the flow not knowing the next day where life’s gonna go. But I am here writing and really, to a writer, isn’t that all that matters?