I cried today like a baby-ghost whose rattling chains had been confiscated (not the elegant sort of crying, but the embarrassing lost-all-control, bubbles-in-your-nose kind of thing).
A startling realization had dawned upon me... that of my dream of becoming a full-time author steadily coming to pass... and at an alarmingly fast pace.
As I celebrated my new-found joy that I can essentially write books for the rest of my days without facing eviction or living off ramen for months on end... a new and more crippling fear replaced it.
My most intimate thoughts, my very soul - if you may - were currently on their way of entering every potential household, so that they may be perused at will, subjected to analysis, and worse even: criticized or even ostracised.
And yet, I cannot imagine myself doing anything other than stripping away the flesh of my mind for another's entertainment. For yes, I am indeed, quite mad, and oft gripped by an imagination too great to contain.
For those who bought or supported my insane (and now published) ramblings, thank you! For those who never supported (nor ever will purchase) the trippy produce of the grey mass between my ears, thank you too! You have no idea what insanity you've been spared!
Without turning all mushy and tearful, I bloody love the lot of you! Same goes for the little brunette girl nestled inside my ear. Vivian sends her love (and keenly apologizes about Trump).
When one works with cosmic Threads, sometimes the Weavers can have a "slip-of-hand", but don't fret. It's not like the Guild keeps an Unwirer around for naught.