Sitting, drinking tumeric milk
Dear Mr. or Ms. somewhere out there, If one doesn't have anything to write about in mind, how does one have writers block? Perhaps its the swollen tonsil pushing against the back of the throat that pulls the mind elsewhere but filling a page with script. Maybe the constant itchy tingling just to the left of the perfect centre of my head that draws my brain away. We can't forget about the 6:30 am eyes, showing off what they can while I live in a world of blurry colours. Of course they are better than 4:30 am eyes, but we don't see each other much so it's of no concern. I'd prefer 1 pm eyes and body but duties of the day must be done by this tired soldier. Alas I must wait for the fog to drain from the sluggish opening to the world today, let them cool down and descend back into their usual spot on the face. Warm and bitter. Frothy and opaque honey-golden liquid makes its way into my mouth. The arm works on it's own this morning, not bothering to keep the itch...