One story is not mine to tell. Though, if it were made into a TV show, I'd have a few lines...maybe make an appearance in a scene or two. This story is actually a story I've seen played out on television more than once. It's the sort of situation that makes me wonder if somehow I've slipped into a parallel universe or wandered onto a sound stage somewhere without realizing it.
The second story is mine and it will be told, but this isn't the right time. I wish I could write about it, I long to pull the thoughts from my mind and store them here for a while, but I can't. Not yet.
It has been the kind of week that leaves you bursting with thoughts, yet speechless. Constipation of the mind. The thoughts churn through my mind, the pressure building...insult added to injury. The kind of week where I find myself scrutinizing my backside in the mirror, certain that eventually I will be able to see the cosmic bullseye that must be painted back there. It has been a week to remember, that's for sure.
I wish I could offer something more than this, but my tongue is firmly tied and my mind can't quite focus on anything other than what I simply cannot say. Instead--HEY LOOK! CUTE KIDS!