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There something to be said for writer's block. Think of all the time you now have to do absolutely nothing. To just sit and vegg, stare at a blank screen and imagine how far you can throw your computer. It's amazing how we take breathing for granted. I think I've managed more sighs (small intakes of air) which seems good for the cardio (which I know nothing about.) I've become more familiar with television and have realized I cannot re-read a book. I now know for a fact that I have past through my country music phase and am left wondering who writes that crap(?) I try to incorporate big words in my vocabulary just to make myself feel as though I really do have something to say. Of course that leaves my conversation partners looking at me as tho' I've lost my mind.
I haven't lost my mind, just my hunger. My need to express. My ability to see the world and color outside the lines. To put into words ... feelings. And to put feelings to thoughts.
Writer's block creates an emptiness that I usually struggle to deal with, but for some reason, this time, I'm not struggling. I'm not kicking myself for not producing. I don't think less of myself for not allowing the muse to sing. Time and I have come to an amicable agreement. I won't rush Time and Time will not rush me.
The muse will sing again. The painter will paint. And the word weaver will weave ... In Time.
GlassPoet ~2002~ |
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