Writer’s BlOck
What does a writer do when they can’t sleep? … They write.
What about? … Everything.
THese last few days have not been friendly to me. Wrapped up in the illustrious patterns woven by none other than myself, I was being confused and halo-ed by everything around me. Nothing made sense and everyone, and everything, was finally against me. … so sad.
And I felt butterflies and then let them suffocate me until the point of excruciating pain. They continued to rip jagged holes and leave scars in my body. Such the pain had never been known to mankind, before this.
O wanderous mind, where do you lead me. Yes, I write to you blind from what sight can see me. Nothing but light from my screen, as the lids that aid my sight now cover and protect my eyes from the screen. My body is tired and longing for the bed that awaits to wrap around me, and yet, I sit awake at my desk, my fingers on the awesome ergo-friendly keyboard, and i type. I type that which I mean to write. … Oh the pure shame of it all.
WHat to write about? Well, I had hoped my dreams would be able to help me figure out what which eludes me, and it doesn’t. Sleep avoids me and now I am left with none other than awakedness and too much thought to keep me from sleep.
Hair in a weird state, I still type, sight blinded, and fingers just moving in the motions that they have always and had memorized so well for so long. … What to type about?
… A vonbersation with a dear mentor-like friend helped me from my recent misery. THough he laughed at my misery and reminded me of my advancing age, everything was familiar and comfortable. I understood, because of that moment, why one would choose an old boyfriend over a new relationship. That comfort. Irreplaceable. I can live a life time of greatness, but without that comfort, I would feel nothing and enjoy even less. Oh bliss, that which mars me also moves me.
I am awake but asleep as the riddeles and tales formulate ideas and hypotheses in my mind. Typos? Are there any? My eyes are away and my neck continues to move, so as to not concentraate that light. … Am I awake or just rambling? Rambling? Yeah, perhaps I am.
oh, my, sleep comes to me now. now that i am but another shadow in a darkening room. sleep moves, now, and quiets my thundering thoughts. … I feel ease, though sudden and great joy. … Is this me?
… is this me?
