Sometimes making stuff up feels a lot like Coyote* running across the empty space between one rocky pinnacle and the next, and as long as you keep moving you’re fine. When you stop and look down, it’s suddenly all too apparent that there’s absolutely nothing underneath and that you’re keeping in the air by a peculiar effort of will.
I finally left the house this morning for the first time in two weeks. I did so because I was out of cat and dog food. Otherwise, I would still be looking tangled and gnarly.
And by tonight, I’ll probably be tangled and gnarly all over again, so it’s a short reprieve.