BB Grey–musings

I just wanted to start writing, but the internet gods were clearly conspiring against me this morning. Here I am, almost 30 minutes later, after Windows decided to throw a tantrum with an update, and the Monarcha Bakery, home of my beloved café tres leches, declared me public enemy number one by blocking my login. So, I had to hot spot like a digital nomad on the run just to get online. All this chaos just to jump-start my day, which feels like an extra day off where the world decided to take a siesta, just for shits and giggles.

The market’s been doing the cha-cha, making my face contort into smiles and frowns faster than a clown at a birthday party – currently, I’m grinning, but who knows for how long?

My project manager, bless her heart, is floundering with job details, turning my patience into a rapidly deflating balloon, especially since today feels like a Monday on steroids. She’s new, so I’m trying to keep my cool, but grace is getting harder to come by.

Trump was sworn in yesterday, and it feels like every industry, nation, and even the local cat is holding its breath, waiting to see what he’ll say next. Momentum? What’s that? It’s like we’re all stuck in a traffic jam, waiting for the next big honk.

On a personal note, a relationship I thought was six feet under decided to pop back up like a zombie from the Walking Dead. Now, I’m trying to resuscitate it without letting it bite me in the ass, turning me zombie. But hey, that’s not my muse today; I’m just setting the stage for my current state of mind.

So, here I am, lying in state, contemplating if I should just play dead for a bit longer. Mentally, the room is dim, filled with the scent of lilies and formaldehyde – a real mood setter. I hear the whispers, the shuffle of feet, as people pay their respects, or rather, check if I’m really out for the count. I imagine sitting up, shouting, “Surprise, I’m not dead, assholes!” but my body plays along with this charade.

A cold hand brushes my cheek – I nearly jump out of my skin. I’m thinking, “I’m dying here,” both literally and figuratively. I want to open my eyes, to see who this brave soul touching the “deceased” is, but I resist because, let’s face it, if I scare them to death, that’s a whole other level of paperwork.

So, I lie there, pondering if this is my resurrection or just another day in the life of a writer on the brink. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll wake up, not to a world that’s moved on, but to one that’s actually waiting for me to lead the charge, or at least, to write the next chapter.

Wish me luck, here I come world!