Every time I sit down to write, to exorcise myself from stress, draw a picture write a freaking word -- I just can't
The notebook closes.
The window closes.
The breath closes.
Pen down.
I'm doing good work with my fate.I don't want to say that "I'm getting close to something," because that doesn't seem to be the way this will work. Some of it is peeling layers, but mostly it seems to be taking bites out of things. Banging my shin into the chair and trying to figure out what will help to heal it.
Or maybe it's just a matter talking with someone in a different way. Open to some things, challenging others. Cracking the door open to see how blinding the light is. Or how bitterly cold.
How long can I go on with the metaphors?
I just deleted a bunch of crap post about guilt and grief. It's all been said before. by me. A different context this time, but still. just displacement, I think.
I have been eating constantly for the last 3 or 4 weeks. Or crying or angry. All the regular stuff, I know. Time of year, sick dog, and what-not.
Surely I am stuffing down some kind of feelings I am not ready to feel. I've picked up all kinds of tools and media to exorcise it from my body.
I pick it up. Put it down.
Not yet.
