Some days I wear my heart on my sleeve, but today I wear the constellations on my pants. By which I mean I’m wearing happy panties of tremendous specialness. Magical knickers of immeasurable value and worth.

Black bikini briefs with a lacy bum but a front panel with silver constellation designs. They were given to me with a loving ‘here, have these.’ It was the giving which made them magical and valuable and worthy.

Other than that they’re just pants. Cute pants, without question. But possessing no inherent magical properties. The magic is born of love.

I know this is cryptic and makes little sense. But what can I do? Why should I do anything? Cryptic panties are to be considered desirable in my opinion. And I have little time for sensible underwear.

But this is all beside the point. I’m procrastinating. Avoiding the real issue.

The real issue is.

I don’t think I can talk today.

By which I mean, I don’t think I can talk today. Not, I don’t want to talk. Not. I won’t talk. Not even, I have chosen not to talk. But I can’t talk.

This has happened before and I’ve snapped out of it. But today I’m not so sure. Something in my mumble jumble psychology went all hurdy gurdy and now, I don’t think I can talk.

I don’t know how this is going to work or what I’m going to do. Do I have to talk? Is it mandatory? Am I going to have to concentrate hard, focus and breathe and force the words out?

What if I can’t?

What if I simply can’t talk? How long will this last?

I’m not really worried for myself, but I’m distressed as hell at what it means for my family. What about my kittens? Will it hurt them? Will it freak them the fuck out?

I cause them so much discomfort and distress with my mental bitch shenanigans. Am I really going to make them deal with this crap too?

Am I really going to hurt them again? Again?

What am I going to do?

I’ll just have to force it. Will it. Want it.

Make myself talk.

I’m not sure I can.

This is something of a predicament. A bit of a pickle. I guess I’m just going to have to learn to love predicament pickles.

Thank the heavens I have magical constellation pants to help see me through. But seriously. What the actual fuck. This is not a joke. I can’t talk.


The Whippoorwills

Still singing but not talking