1.) It ain’t happening. The deadline, that is. Or rather, the deadline will indeed happen. It will fly merrily by without a glance at furiously working author, furiously furry muse or emphatically “Not Done!” novel. It is the hoped-for “The End” that will not be happening.
2.) I should be vexed about this. I’m not. In fact, I plan to wave cheerily at the deadline as it scurries on by. I’d even offer it a crumpet if I didn’t fear Frank (my specter of imminent failure) might pop out of whatever hidey-hole he’s been claiming as home these days at the mention of his favorite munchie.
3.) This non-vexed stance of mine means I’m either resigned to failure (clearly not, since I haven’t seen Franky-boy in months), crazy (which I am, psychiatrist-tested and all, but not about this) or confident. I don’t do confident. I might talk a good game at times but inside I’m just a trembling little nut scared of her own almond-scented shadow.
4.) Perhaps, just perhaps, and definitely without that c-word coming into it, I simply know that May holds that checkered flag. Call it a gut feeling. Just please don’t call it confidence.
5.) This blog was utterly pointless, I’m afraid. And I really should apologize for it, but I don’t think I will. Hmm… I wonder if that’s the c-word talking? Nah, can’t be.