I Can’t Believe It, Either

Switching Tracks

If you are having a sense of WTF déjà vu, well, join the club. I had no idea this was going to happen. Again.

Coe was supposed to head out to New York at 7 a.m. to assist our daughter and son-in-law make the first leg of their cross-country trek to the west coast. He apparently could not sleep because I heard him pull out at 2 a.m. Now I cannot sleep. Not only can I not sleep, while I am laying in bed, I am writing a new opening chapter to the previously shelved A Murdered Soul in my head. So I feel obligated to get up and write it down before I forget it all.

This comes fortuitously on the heels of my increasing aversion to writing about my own life, in any form. I have spent a lifetime carefully keeping people at arm’s length and not providing ammo for my own destruction. I will keep all the ammo for myself, thank you very much.

So I have switched tracks. Again.

Hey – it’s my train. I will drive down whatever the hell track suits my fancy at any given minute. At this ungodly hour, I fancy plotting the story of a serial killer and the investigator who pursues her.

The only downside here is that it is now 4 a.m. and I am too damned old to drink wine at this hour. I did not see that coming, either.

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