Ok, I really did ditch the dating site this time. Both of them. The first one was easy. Not a single suspect to thicken the plot and an overloaded internet connection, due to La Dina’s last minute uploading of her vegan adventures before packing her blender and heading off for a Fruit Festival in the tropics. I ended up with a profile that was bordering on breatharian when the site crashed and my carefully selected photos vanished into thin air. So it wasn’t hard to let that one go. The second one took me another week before I finally got over the thrill of the chase. I dropped a PM to a cute guy with a creative bent then pressed delete.
Now I am looking at a clear creative path ahead of me. I suddenly have more time to contemplate my navel rather than wondering what someone elses looks like. This morning I woke up after a less than ideal amount of REM, buzzing with enthusiasm. I reached for the notebook by my bed and began my next work of narrative non-fiction before heading to the kitchen and avoiding the fall-out from last night’s dinner party. I have to admit that I am a sucker for memoir. Call it narcissistic but I reckon there’s a good story in my obsessive self-reflection. We’ll see.
And what am I doing with a photo of a headless kangaroo? That was my prompt for yesterdays writer’s block. Honestly, life is stranger than fiction.