The state or process that occurs when no more of something can be absorbed, combined with, or added.
This would be me on food.
Eating it, looking at it, purchasing it, cooking it, cleaning it up, and most of all — writing about it. I’m saturated. In fact, I’m probably super-saturated, but I won’t go into that because I’d have to Google the term to remember what I learned in chemistry a million years ago.
But I’m there.
I’m hoping my brain will thank me for easing up on it, because at the rate I’m going, being one-dimensional is right around the corner. Although I’m sure there are some perks to being one-dimensional — like being able to fit in tight spaces, weighing less, qualifying as a cast member of The Real Housewives of You Fill in the Blank (or all three simultaneously) — but I’d rather not find out.
I don’t want to have to follow “expert” advice about how to improve Google rankings, or format posts, tag photographs, or use social media to improve traffic. Focus? Why do I have to have one? It makes me weary thinking about it.
Licking my index finger and holding it up to see which way the wind is blowing is good enough for me. If anything, it would allow for the unexpected instead of the planned. Whimsey. Bird-walking.
No lists. Ugh.
Instead, a promise to myself to enjoy writing — for me.
And guess what? I found a writing group that will start meeting next month — nothing formal — just show up with a notebook. They supply the prompts.
I’m thinking this will be a hellavalot easier than losing 50 lbs.
Wait. Isn’t that sort of where all of this started?