My assignment

Okay, I've been avoiding this. I thought I would be more diligent, writing everyday -- or every other day -- or once a week at least! But I haven't.

I could make up all sorts of excuses but right now I can't think of one. What a challenge! Come on, think! Why can't I write . . . anything?

Um, maybe I'm afraid. No, I know I'm afraid. And writing that, I want to shout from the nearest rooftop: I used to be fearless! Well, maybe not from the rooftop. Heights, you know. Jelly knees. Don't look down. That sort of thing. Excuse me as I crawl back into my corner under that rock. Yes, that BIG rock. That's mine. Yep. My rock. My hard place. My home.

Good Lord!

Okay. Here's the deal. On May 23, I return to my therapist and she expects something "creative." A painting, a poem, a short story, a sketch. No revision of old work. Something new and "creative." (Hats don't count; I already checked.)

I, of course, expect something perfect.