How does one start their life over again? I have no idea. I guess I’ll start by continuing to find a way to breathe. By getting out of bed every morning and putting one foot in front of the other. By caring for myself with bubble baths and kitten kisses and hopefully one day all that was will be but a lovely memory of some vaporous dream.

I had spent several hours in front of my computer watching the cursor flash against the empty Word document. I finally reach out to my beau in desperation, “I’m freaking out. I seem to have lost the ability to form even the smallest creative thought,” I said to him.

“Hmmm… you have a block,” he says. “Let’s see if we can figure something out to help you.”

“Ok, but at this point, I’m not even sure I can spell.”

“You just want too much. You need to think more simple,” he says. “Why don’t you write about the Gävle goat? Every year they try to burn that Christmas goat down.”

“Which goat?” I ask with eyebrows raised.

My beau lives in Göteborg, so here it is . . . a simple Christmas tale direct from the land of Sweden.