People who crossed my path today and saw my blank expression and shuffling gait might have thought things along the lines of Oh, that poor, weary commuter or Poor, grey, soul-sucked, city office worker when in fact I was a happy and contented, but incredibly pooped and increasingly sore, horse rider having flashbacks of fields and sheep, gum trees blowing in the wind, sharp turns in the forest taken at high speed and logs that were jumped with ease.
Sometimes a zombie isn't a zombie.
Otherwise, I'm counting my rejections (aka the we-liked-it-buts), and eyeing the dwindling number of stories I've got out in the world strutting their stuff (or not). It's time for some serious submitting.
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