the new face of zero and one

I woke up this morning with a heartache.

No, I'm not talking about heartburn. I'd like to think I'm experienced enough with that, after my years of late night beer and wine drinking, Pokey sticks and Pad Thai. That fiery morning retribution has a very specific timbre. This is not heartburn. It's a heartache.

I went about the day, doing what I always do. It was a Sunday, so I did some cleaning and dishes, then sat down and did some work on arrangements I have backlogged. I wrote a few emails and went grocery shopping. It was raining. I listened to jazz.

But what IS that nagging? That...throbbing? I can feel it in that nether-region in my middle, that place that only reports sensation to my brain when it's filled with longing or hurt. If I wasn't itching to finish reading this novel and sit down to watch a movie with Gabrielle, I'd spend some time to consider a name for that place that nags me so regularly...what can I call it?

Unbeknownst to me, the Furies have apparently been pursuing me too.

Maybe it's you? Maybe it's sympathetic vibrations. It's possible that I'm hurting for you. Maybe it's my mother. Maybe it's Snorty (oh hello...I didn't see you there). Maybe it's the rain?

It's probably the rain. Wait, it's ice now. My front lawn is white.

Yeah, it's probably the ice.