true love

No news is good news, perhaps. I have slowed down, been distracted, the flutter in my head has stopped. I am not thinking but skiing. My translations are mechanical, thrifty. I just have to untangle the Italian and clip around the edges. Easy stuff. A sociology piece that beckons will be more challenging.

But I have lost the pace. I am working on promotion of my novel on the other side, and this takes up hours of productive time, grinding me into the desk, layers of cardigans, an escape to the piano with frosty hands.

I have no stories today. Nothing creative.

Just plumbers, a lunch, my love hit in my heart keeping me awake at night, and the promise of more skiing. And more.

I want my words back. I want my head to stagger.