Or something's already happened, and you don’t know it yet?
That's how I've been feeling.
Last Friday I forgot to write to you. Simply forgot. Friday came and went without me. I only realized it the next day when my yoga body took me to Saturday morning yoga as usual. As I rolled out my mat, it occurred to me I’d completely missed Friday. I thought that was the end of it. At least I could rely on my yoga body to kick in on Tuesdays and Saturdays, reset my weekly calendar, and get me back on track. Then last Tuesday I forgot to go to yoga.
I’m a cartoon character blithely rowing down a stream, the scenery so monotonous I swear I've passed the same tree five times, and suddenly, blam—Niagara Falls. My little canoe goes over so fast I paddle through midair before gravity kicks in.
Something’s going on. Writing Ghosts are visiting. A friend sent me magazine columns Dad had written in 1994. And then I stumbled across a newspaper article I had written in 1976. Ghosts of Writing Past. Lately I’ve been looking for studio space to lease, a place to call my author home. I don’t know where this idea came from, but I can clearly see myself typing away in a studio. Ghost of Writing Future. And today, even though I know it’s Friday and I’ve been working steadily, once again I couldn’t meet my deadline. Ghost of Writing Present.
Something’s going on. It could be because of the holidays. Schedules get broken, routines upended. Or because it’s winter. Sometimes the urge to hibernate slows me to a standstill. Or because it’s January. Maybe I subconsciously made a New Year’s resolution that’s taken over. This year I resolve to blow up all connections to reality.
Something’s going on. There's a big change in the works. That placid little stream fell out from under my canoe, and here I am rowing through midair.
Not to worry. In the next scene, I land on a cloud.