I spend a lot of time daydreaming. More than half of the day. It isn’t something I do on purpose. It just happens. It’s like a cable box set on shuffle. Everything I look at, everything I hear, say, do…has a million stories lurking just under the skin. And I can see them moving there beneath the surface like an alien. You know, from Alien.
It drives me crazy. It makes me happy. It makes me distracted, unfocused, clumsy, forgetful. It makes me a writer. It makes me me. This sight.