I think the moon is not in blog. Neither I nor two other bloggers I know feel like blogging right now and when I checked my feed this morning, there were only two new posts which is quite odd.
Perhaps we are in the quiet moon.
Or perhaps Keith Richards is sucking up all the talking energy right now. Bless his old heart, 71 years old, about to be 72 in a few months, and today is the day his first solo recording in 23 years is hitting the stores, the internet, the universe, as it were and he is everywhere in the news being interviewed and lauded. You know this makes me happy.
Last night the documentary made by Morgan Neville was premiered at the Toronto Film Festival and if I really wanted to, I could sit down on my couch and watch it right this second, via the Netflix.
Nah. I'm saving it.
Jessie's due date is in just three days, I believe. I still can't quite wrap my head around the fact that she's about to have this child, despite her beautiful, filled-with-life belly. She and Vergil are as ready as ready can be and have their house all arranged and kitchen in place and functioning and it is finally done and just in time and I knew they'd get it done.
To be quite selfish and quite honest, I can't wait until that precious child is safe and warm and here, wrapped in his happy mother's arms.
I breathe in. I breathe out.
I feel too full of so much to write. As if, without warning, everything will cascade onto the keyboard, let loose from this heart of mine and at the same time, I feel as if I must hold everything close to my heart, not let it all loose because to do so allows the eyes of the gods to see it and judge it and proclaim me too lucky or too crazy or too content or too yearning or too insincere or too...whatever it is you're not supposed to be or are supposed to be which bring down the gods' wrath or envy ("I am a jealous god") or punishment or something fatefully disturbing.
Well, yes. Of course. I have the faulty wiring.
On we go. Verbally prolific or not.
That much at least I do know.
Gold rings on you.