I had written a moving, 400-word post inspired by Lisa Jo's Five Minute Friday writing prompt, tender and poignant, laughter in one minute and reaching for tissues in the next. I loved it and delighted in the writing more than usual. Admittedly, I went well beyond the five-minute guideline, but I was on a roll and words rarely come that fast for me.
I was full from Thanksgiving in every sense of the word, and I suppose the words were my overflow, my release valve, a way to settle after a tryptophan high.
But then the internets ate the entire blasted thing when I tried to upload the image, and in a fit of unbridled fury, I slammed my laptop shut, slung a fury of unrepeatable expletives (in my head, not out loud), cried like a baby and steamed to the shower. Had you been a fly on the way, you would have laughed and laughed and been extrememly embarrassed for me.
I was reduced to a two-year-old in full tantrum.
This is all that remains. Perhaps it's all that's supposed to.