I should knock on your door with a warning already on my lips: I'm going to require a supersized dose of patience. I am just so DISTRACTED by examining the ins and outs of my imagination. I am so DISTRACTED by the cracked particleboard under my mattress and by the vase full of spring flowers on the counter. And let's not get started on the blister on the side of my heel that won't heal because I don't give it time.
I think I'm going through a phase in which I take things much too far. There are extremes all over me and it's kind of alarming--I had a failure of flexibility and my reaction was to curl into a ball and fling myself down a mountain à la the pebble toad.
And that's just me talking in euphemisms. Maybe the reality was even more ridiculous.
I'm not sure of the cure but I imagine it would involve constant reassurances, clean bills of health, and melted cheese.
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