I'm just outside the back door standing in the snow. The day is ash grey and the wind is biting, but it's still better than inside. For what seems like the ten-thousandth time I wonder what I'm doing here. I'm hiding, but even out here in the middle of nowhere I can't hide from myself. It's weakness being here. No, not just weakness, madness.
My body shudders in the cold I can't feel anymore. I need to be careful. I shouldn't stay out much longer, but I had to get away from Jill. It isn't her fault this time. I was heading down into the basement to get some more peanut butter, and that's when I smelled it. A dead smell. I know it's probably just a mouse, but that didn't stop me from tearing back up the stairs and slamming the door. Jill doesn't understand and I can't explain it to her.
I take a deep breath of icy air. It smells of arctic wind and new snow coming. I glance down at my bare hands, ruddy now with blue-tinged fingernails. I've stayed out too long, but I should be able to stoke the ashes in the fireplace to a good fire when I get back inside the cabin. Jill will want to know why I went outside, but sometimes I can distract her. I'll agree to play Rummy with her and she'll forget.
I take one last long gaze out at the skeletal trees fattened only by several inches of old snow, at the blown snow consuming several feet of their bases, and at the swollen grey clouds looming above them. I realize that it doesn't matter why I'm here, because right now there's no place else to go.
I Write, I Edit, I Write Again. Witness!
We're Making Better Words, All of Them, Better Words.
I Write to Burn Off the Crazy.
A Good Day Writing is a Day Writing.
It Puts the Words on the Page or it Gets the Hose Again.
Just Keep Writing, Just Keep Writing; Writing, Writing, Writing...