Excuse me, but has anybody seen the sun? You know, big orange heavenly blob that makes the world a prettier place to be? I was told by numerous sources on the Weather Channel that it was supposed to be here today. In fact, I counted on it being here. Had all my merry little plans made for a bright and shiny Sunday afternoon of football and romance, writing and holiday-making…

I think I’ve been stood up.

Bummer… No, really.

Ready or not here comes a peek into my messed up world. I warned you this might happen and here it is. File all complaints with Mr. Jim Cantore and the fake little sun he plopped over my head last night.

Honestly, I’m on a lot of medication for my panic attacks. I have been for many years. With these meds I’ve been able to weasel out a mostly doable life that has me playing in the sun a lot more than just surviving in the shadows. Yeah, I know, not a pretty picture… but a lot of Picasso’s stuff wasn’t pretty either but they turned out to masterpieces in the end. So, here’s to hoping that there’s a little bit of Picasso buried deep down beneath the screwed up fear.

Anyhow, it’s hard to “play in the sun” when there’s no sun. Not kidding, here. Sometimes the sun and a beautiful blue sky seems to play as important a role in my struggling mental health as the meds. I know a lot of people with depression feel the same way. It’s fine if it’s raining, snowing is glorious, but when the day is just this big heavy brick of gray ugliness my mind just settles back in its perpetual shadows and burrows itself in for the duration.

It stinks.

Big time.

And see now that I have actually complained to you about it, I feel even worse.  What kind of crap is that?

Well, on days like these you all are truly the manifestation of the song, “You are my sunshine.” I’ll more than likely write the day away, running toward the sunshine your happy, satisfied faces bring me when I’m able to deliver a good story to you… Sounds lame, I know. But the truth of my life often is a little crooked and off-putting, so lame just about fits perfectly here.

As I leave you this day with your Chapter Three excerpt, I wish you all sunshine and little Picasso’s in the shady corners of your souls…

 
Chapter Three: Powdered Sugar Clues

“The amount of skin stretched over the perfectly sculpted six pack and deeply barreled ribs gave Laird such a head rush that he found himself reaching back and grabbing at a wall just in case his knees decided to join his dick on its unplanned trip around the moon.” (page 39)

Until tomorrow…

Chloe Stowe

 


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