Teetering

Did I spell that correctly? That teetering word. It’s not one that I write too often. Well, okay, I am not getting a dashed redline heads-up so it is probably right. Actually, it’s starting to look okay to me now.

See, that’s the start of my day; I feel as if I am teetering on the top of a peak and could lean and go any way. Not that by saying “peak” I am implying that all possibilities are downhill. No, no. Leaning a certain way might actually land me on the raft of good humor. You guffawed, didn’t you? Or snorted? How is it you get the feeling that is probably not the prevailing wind of my personality? Oh, yeah, experience.

I am starting to get a hint of the day’s direction and it is the path of Chicken Little. That’s probably too extreme. Maybe it’s the “I never birthed no babies, Miss Scarlett” frenzy coming on.

Of course, there is the remote possibility that this might be the first teeter on a journey of assuming the determined and commanding demeanor of General George S. Patton . . . It would be easier, though, if I had a tank.