Floating a Theory

The other day a writer friend of mine hurt herself tripping over her husband's foot.  Another writer friend lost her car in the Walmart parking lot.  This morning, I almost fell off the porch, stepping over Max the cat.  Between the gyrations to stay on the porch and the twisting to not squash kitty-boo, I wrenched several annoying parts of my anatomy.

My theory?  Well, I joked about it with the one who hurt her foot - writers have their brains on loftier things.  I was joking at the time, but the more I think about it, the more I think I might be onto something.

Think about it.  How much time do we spend on any average day with our brains in someplace other than where we are?  I don't know about you, but unless I'm on a break from everything writerly, I should hang a sign on my forehead:  "Out.  Back in fifteen."  Or maybe it should say something more along the lines of "In the back working.  Knock hard." 

So, all I guess I'm saying is if you're in the midst of your own writerly world, try and stay safe out there.

(Oh and because the cartoon place put their information over the words in the cartoon - it's supposed to say Lost and Profound.)