Things have been a little hectic lately. Work, the other job that I can't give you the facts of, is manic. I'm editing my third and fourth novels and I'd love to reveal I'm writing the next DC Nina Foster, but that would be a lie. I don't have time at the moment.
Someone recently let me in on a relaxation technique, and it didn't involve alcohol.
I thought it would be worth a try.
The idea was to get as comfortable as possible, close my eyes and imagine I was in a canoe paddling along a stream. The sun is shining and the birds are singing.
Eventually, I paddle up to a clearing and get out of the canoe and lay on the grass and relax, taking in the sounds and scents of all around me.
This was all very well but the last time I canoed anywhere, I was eleven on an adventure holiday. The canoe capsized and I ended up soaked. The memory of this brought about the first concern I had about relaxing in this particular way. Secondly, I worried if I should be wearing a helmet and a life-jacket. I'm not one to be glib about safety.
Next came my concern that once I got out of the canoe, presumably without drowning, hitting my head or getting soaked to the skin without a change of clothes, how would I stop the canoe from drifting away? Would it be too heavy to drag up the bank? Is there a rope to secure it?
My imagination conjured up a small jetty to secure the canoe that would also allow me to crawl out to dry dock. It would, of course, be an undignified exit but I was in a deserted clearing.
Or was I?
The relaxation technique didn't specify where I was. America and Canada have bears and other animals only too happy to rip your face off. England has wasps. I'll admit they aren't as scary but I'm not sure if I'm allergic. I'm now faced with the possibility that my relaxation technique will end with anaphylactic shock and my death. Remember, the place was deserted.
Don't even get me started on where the nearest toilet was.