It’s after midnight and I’m trying a different tactic to get to sleep tonight by giving a brief forum to my thoughts instead of letting them clump up in my forebrain until after 3AM.

I have been at Viable Paradise since Sunday, but I can’t really talk about that right now because I find I am PHYSICALLY incapable of talking about it.

I would normally take a few minutes to compose my thoughts before trying to write a blog post, but there’s no room in my head. THERE’S NO FUCKING ROOM. And there’s nothing to alleviate the pressure from the massive thing growing there.

I’m used to having that head space where I dump all contents of the neuro-RAM and just exist in a moment. But even these quiet hours of the day are filled to bursting because of the unrelenting vibration. And there’s no telling my brain there will be time to digest later. And there’s no amount of mental organization I can impose on it to focus on one thing at a time – to tease the threads apart and run them down and make sense of them to file away for later use. It’s a clump. A clump of glee, and inspiration, and motivation, and (validation) and excitement, and closure, and beginnings, and new friends, and the concrete idea of a future that’s not wrapped in quite so much smoke. The idea that I’ve walked into the room that I was meant to walk in.

And there’s cake.

And gimlets.

And hugs.

I’m sorry. I’m still not thinking straight.

And I can see now that I’ll never be able to adequately describe how VP been because there is just SO MUCH. I could focus on the plot of this story. Or the theme. Or the characterization or the exposition. Or I could zoom into one scene and maybe, MAYBE, capture some of the energy and emotion…

But I can’t. Because I find I don’t have the mouth for it at the moment.

So please go scream for me. And if your throat gets sore, I think there might still be some more Rose’s Lime Juice in the fridge. I’ll make you a gimlet.