A Grand, Barely

Last night I had to do my writing because I'm the single parent and you know all of this already, so moving right along, I had to do my writing. And so I wrote from a female character's POV an ode to her 4th metacarpal which had recently been halved. She literally eulogized her missing digit.

I'm telling you flat-out, I'm not happy about this at all, I'm kind of nervous. But here are the themes which are emerging (trying not to pay attention to them and swerve into THEMATIC IMPORTANT WRITING MODE).

Free will.
Racism.
Chaos.
Personal Power.
Magic.
The love/hate of family

Where it's all going I have no idea. I am teeeetering on the brink of total blockage, of "just ate a pound of cheddar and when I strain on the toilet my 'roids inflate like airbags while little blue fireworks go off in my head" blockage.

So I'm going to ignore reason and accountability and move on, otherwise I feel I'll be blocked fer sure. Here's a pilfered sentence (from dictonary.com) which I have been using as a balm for my inflamed brain.

"Body is flux and frustration, a locus of pain and process. If it becomes impassible and incorruptible, how is it still body?"

A locus of pain and process, indeed.