I read a poet-blogger the other day describe her inability to find the time or opportunity to write as making her itch.
I get that. Only I feel like I've gained weight, rather than broken out in hives. I feel bloated. And like my clothes don't fit anymore. Everything is too tight and about to pop buttons.
This is a metaphor.
I've been retaining words all summer, and I finally intend to shed some serious pounds. I'm meeting my muse in the morning, and we have a bruising work-out scheduled.
Tomorrow, my daughter goes back to school.