Genome Journalist

A crisis of sorts has emerged in Wilmawood journalism. I'm scheduled to be away for the next few days, exploring New Bern, which will keep me too busy to update The Circular Journey.

Most patrons of downtown districts won't notice my absence. Life in the Port City will carry on as usual. Trolleys will zip happily through the central districts. Police cruisers will continue to demonstrate their authority by disregarding the ordinary matters of this world. Furrowed brows will remain scarce in coffee shops and bakeries along Castle Street. In short, little visible evidence of the crisis at hand will exist.

Princess Amy has agreed to monitor comments and reply appropriately should any reader express concern over a missing post. Messages of a congratulatory or complimentary nature will receive a hearty thank-you. Everything in between will be ignored.

The average Wilmawood citizen is constantly seeks the latest updates about happenings in their fair city. You see them everywhere, reading their favorite print and digital periodicals while indulging in their preferred stimulant—caffeine, sugar, doggie treats. 

Every class of society is accounted for in the periodicals of our fair city, and The Circular Journey is highly regarded by its audience. After all, it serves as home base for the lightest and brightest.

The Journey presents a different way of living—a more enlightened approach to engaging with those who have evolved a higher level of consciousness. It is, essentially, a guide to leaving the dream life here in paradise.

Writing it is an essential part of my day, helping me combat the melancholy that hovers around my head like a persistent storm cloud. However, I must admit that, up to now, melancholy has maintained a commendable success rate.

Nevertheless, The Circular Journey thrives. It has an ever-growing audience, and its contents are mildly interesting—if you enjoy that sort of thing. Regular features include updates from Crystal Cove, reminiscences of Happy Cats, and the ongoing sagas of Princess Amy. Motion Picture Masterpieces appear from time to time, and of course, Fierce Qigong pops up intermittently—like the demon king of a Thai water opera.

Whether it’s the strain of diving into classic literature every week, or the effort of editing my soon-to-be-published book The Cat Healthcare Advocate, or the relentless arrival of early pollen season, my energy has been utterly drained. My fitness trainer, Ms. Wonder, ordered one week of complete rest in the mountains.

I could have endured this exile from blogging if that were all there was to consider. There are worse places to be stranded than the Carolina mountains in early spring. But fate had another twist in store.

At the last moment, it became painfully clear that pollen would be even more formidable in the hills. Thus, a new plan emerged: we would journey east to the coastal town of New Bern, the colonial capital of Carolina. On a clear day, the pink sands of Bermuda may be seen on the horizon, or so I'm told.

"You must not so much as glance at the blog for one week," declared The Wonder. "Forget it exists. Dismiss it from your mind. Get out in the open and enjoy the sunshine and fresh air."

With tears in my eyes and a tremor in my voice, I entrusted my final instructions to Princess Amy.

"Well, I think that’s everything, Amy," I said. "You understand what I mean about monitoring the comments?"

Amy nodded. She is, of course, an almond-shaped cluster of brain cells, but she's well acquainted with the peculiar way my brain operates.

"Just one more thing," I continued. "Ms. Solveigh Bensen Petersen has a slight tendency—I may have mentioned this before—"

"You did," said Amy.

"And one other thing. You may want to give special attention to my humor. Not that it’s risky exactly, but perhaps a tad… pointed."

"If I notice any humor, I'll know what to do," she said.

"My sense of humor," I explained, "occasionally strays slightly beyond the bounds. So, if anyone complains, you might consider being—well—apologetic."

"Duly noted," she said.

At the door, I paused with the air of a migrating sunbird bidding farewell to its favorite stretch of coastline. I sighed deeply and closed the door.

And so, dear readers, I embark on this journey of enforced relaxation, leaving The Circular Journey in capable hands. I expect to return rejuvenated, brimming with newfound wisdom, and free of pollen-induced despair.

Either that, or I will be found frantically scribbling notes on the back of a New Bern café napkin, unable to resist the siren call of the written word. Only time will tell and we'll find out soon enough—if Princess Amy hasn’t deleted all my drafts in a fit of artistic rebellion.