crossroads and chrysalis

I'm molting and I'm in a mood. Yeah, I know, this has been going on for a while. Frog died a year ago Friday (I could forget these things, if my mother didn't remind me at every turn) and that's the only way I can explain my bouts of silence. I'm a little tied up in the theories and acts of death and resurrection, the who and what of transcendence. It's just a little chrysalis action here and we'll have color to rival tulips and daffodils in a couple of days.

While I'm on the subject - every now and then I get concerned e-mails about the state of my emotional health whenever I post something on here that isn't necessarily all sunshine and roses, and what it does is it makes me want to shut down production. I write what I feel like writing and it's not always pretty. This is where I binge and purge and anything posted here should be be taken as such. I unload the laundry, I wash the laundry, I fold the laundry, I discard the stuff with the holes, I move on. You want to watch my spin cycle, hey, that's up to you and you're welcome, but I'm going to run across the street to Duncan Donuts. When people start asking me why I have so many sport socks and how many wifebeaters can one girl own and what's with all the frilly lingere that I air dry, that's when I shut up and I don't want to talk anymore. Seriously, I'm fine; stop asking and stop picking apart the state of my underwear drawer. If you want to stand there, that's fine, but no comments and please pass the fabric softener.

I hope the day brings you many hollow chocolate rabbit ears and opportunities to play in the flowers. Meanwhile, I'm going to finish up with this cocoon thing, enjoy my wing span and flap around in the mud for a bit. It all comes out in the wash, after all.