I figured I was smart. I figured; there’s no better way to force yourself into writing unless it’s a life threatening situation. So here I am, strapped to a chair, which is being slowly lowered into a pool of genetically mutated Piranhasharks and will keep doing so unless I continuously type down something. It sucks that I sort of have writers’ block, so I’m pretty close to the waters now, and there’s this itch on my toe that I have just have to get and oh god it waters just touched my ankles I have to type gotta keep typing one word two word three word four word oh crap oh crap oh crap oh

Oh, now I have some leeway. Right. I just need to type myself to safety. Just keep typing, typing…

*****

So, I had this week staked out. I studied the calendar, I noted down the important stuff and I had myself a schedule, complete with red-marker circlets. Then I cracked my fingers and got on with it. By Tuesday I’ve forgotten my days and I thought I was in the year 1901.

In my defence, I kept my end of the bargain until everything simply collapsed into craziness. When that happens, the best one could do is simply fall along and hope that there’s coffee at the end of it. So don’t blame me for thinking time went back to 1901 and I stood watching Annie Taylor going down the Niagara Falls in a barrel and freaking survived.

Anyway, I wonder why every person out there thinks October is a good time to have media events. By the damn throngs of it.

Things happened, one after another. And I couldn’t remember most of it already, or rather I’m too lazy to. One had me going on a flying fox, though. It was real. It was a long day.

And it’s not dying down. The storm’s still going on. We’re barely through.

Though, now I’ve got a poncho and an umbrella. And yellow boots.