Chloe Stowe's Blog: The Words and Madness of Chloe Stowe, page 2

Perspective Unskewed

A Cat. 4 hurricane is good for the tornado jitters. Who knew? Last night I was up until 2am waiting for the tornadoes promised for north Alabama. Normally, I would have been a skittish ninny, instead I was simply an overly-concerned citizen. Apparently, driving through hundreds of miles of mangled Panhandle forests puts a twister in perspective. But if given the choice, I’d still say, “Screw the perspective and save the trees.” Until tomorrow… Chloe, an unabashed tree hugger

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A writer with an open book in lap is like a cat with a scratching post in paw. Everything about the experience results in rich, guttural purrs. If it’s a bad read, the claws show no mercy. A good book? Oh, the obscene rubbing and playful scratching that will occur! Or is that, um, just me? Pardon me while I go check my Prozac. Until tomorrow… Chloe

The Pretend Day

I played professional yesterday. Worked like I was getting paid, had a time card to punch, lunch hour and coffee breaks (cookie breaks, in my case) and pushed out three quality articles for the Maryland Sports Blog. I wanted to see if I could do it. I did it. I did it well. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough left of me to blog here. It won’t happen again, or often, but the fact that there could be reason for it to happen at all is simply brilliant. Until tomorrow… Chloe

The Little Victory

For the second time in my illustrious nut-hood (i.e. a couple of decades), I was able to vote yesterday. The fact that this is monumental is silly. But silliness is the name of the game here in Crazy Land. So, I’ll take my little victories and any stickers they provide (“I Voted Early” in red, white and vibrant blue, this time) and count myself lucky to have somehow managed them. Bottom line: Vote. The difference you make may be to yourself. Until tomorrow… Chloe

Flypaper

The walls of my mind are covered in flypaper. Thoughts that I think once, stick. Bad, sad thoughts mostly. And these bad, sad thoughts that stick struggle on the flypaper. And cry out on the flypaper. And eventually die an unremarkable death on the flypaper. Is this OCD or anxiety? Or is panic the papering fiend? Does it matter? Not really. The stickiness will remain. Until tomorrow… Chloe

The Struggling Bug

My blogness is dragging. It’s only temporary and the blog bug will again perk up and percolate properly, but nothing is coming naturally here as of late. I could blame my screwy head, the screwy weather or the general screwiness of the world, but I think I’ll just apologize and vow to do better every day –until the blog bug once again sings strong. Until tomorrow… Chloe

Beware the Hour

Did you know at 1am I morph from a sports writer into a romance author? This is not by choice or design. In fact, I wasn’t aware of this POOF!-like transformation until last night when my Navy-Notre Dame recap drifted into the wee hours of the morning. In a hiccup my objective, biting commentary of the Midshipmen triple-option poofed into long, lazy, sultry sentences of a fan’s ardent amour. Talk about jarring and just a little bit freaky. Bottom line: I really wish I would have come with a warning label. Until tomorrow… Chloe

The Mile Markers Missed

Pangs of what will never be. They hit me sometimes clear out of the blue. It’s to be expected, sure. When your life road is made crooked and dizzying by anxiety and panic, when going to the store or making a phone call requires a ridiculous but sadly real journey of courage, you miss certain mile markers of life. Marriage, children, career, retirement are the normal missed posts, but my pangs are no longer from these. They’re from stupid things like never having a mortgage. A mortgage. Somebody hurry up and straitjacket me. Until tomorrow… Chloe

On the Doorstep

Actually had, like, work to do this morning. Work. I still can’t believe I’ve been able to pull off working since July for a real company. It is a genuine miracle. Not often one of those graces a crazy girl’s doorstep. So, pardon the delay in today’s post. You weren’t forgotten, only miracle-delayed. Until tomorrow… Chloe

A Wrong Winter

Drove through the devastation of Hurricane Michael yesterday. Thousands of pines hacked off at their knees, craggy stumps ten feet high left standing in their stead. Deciduous forests stripped naked of their every leaf, bringing a wrong winter to the Florida landscape. It will take decades for the land to recover… never mind the toll on human lives (a toll my heart dare not consider). I’m exhausted, but I’m home. Home. I am so blessed. Until tomorrow… Chloe