Somewhere in my addled, pain dulled, too little sleep, getting old sucks brain are some half formed thoughts about this picture. Something about things in transition, in this case trapped halfway between being dusty and dirty and being clean, halfway between being wet and dry, etc. But like the globules of red goo floating around in a lava lamp, those thoughts are just not coming together today.
On a completely different note, November is now five weeks away. November means NaNoWriMo. I had a lot of fun doing it for three years (search for it, some of it didn’t suck for a first draft) and I’m wondering if I’m guanopsychotic enough to try it again with everything else going on.
Of course, we know the answer to that.
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 