weather like this makes me want to stand up and shout.
Sing, dance, etc.
Will have to think of something fun to do with the kiddos.
Tonight: girl's night out.
Yes, I realize it's Sunday.
But tomorrow's a holiday!
So...we're going to attempt to find some sort of hot spot tonight.
Drinking, possible dancing, possible karaoke.
I haven't had a good Girl's Night OUT in a while.
Tomorrow, a good hike with the J. and then a birthday party for a friend's little boy.
Should be a helluva weekend, all around.
I just found a piece of paper on my desk, as I rounded up little scraps to throw away
(somehow, I've managed to have trash cans in every room of this house except THIS ONE. And I'm the only one who ever puts things in the trash, so I really ought to have one in MY OFFICE...bleh.)
and I'd like to share it with you.
It's one of those hastily scribbled thoughts from a late night of tossing and turning.
Interestingly, it ties in with the thought I had last night:
each of them is expressing my concern over my writer's block.
My once silvery tongue is now more like slivery--
because, perhaps, someone told me that if I licked a tree branch at night
it would turn into.......
Why, yes, I DO think I'm funny, why do you ask??
So then last night I was thinking about it and I began to wonder if the problem was more in my head, or in my own perception that it was a real problem.
I was thinking...
What if the problem is simply that I have stopped dazzling myself?
(and no, that's not a masturbation joke...)
Truly, I think that could be a part of it.
That and the fact that I just haven't written anything exciting in a long time.
I should quit stressing about it and just let it flow...like I used to.
I guess there is no use living in the past.
Just let go and
I am so wrapped up in my own fears that I can't write.
Hell, I can barely even conjure a proper fantasy inside my own head for my own
If ya catch my drift.
I don't know if I am meant to live in this world.
This white picket fence world...
it feels like walking around in someone else's life.
But I've had this thought before, and it always ends with my concession that I couldn't be happy if I had as much freedom as I think I want.
Ok, hands up--
who thinks this paragraph is the definition of CRAZY???
Come on, don't be shy. Raise those hands.
Shit, I can't count that high...
I explained it to someone once...
I said I balance on the edge, between appreciating and enjoying my life and wanting
And that is how I can write.
but I think that's a lie.
I think I can't feel both contentment and restlessness at exactly the same time.
Within moments of each other, sure.
But not concurrently.
I got sick of wanting, and so I stopped.
I don't really dare to Want anymore.
It hurts too much.
Here I am, back at square one: can't write.
My head feels like a whole bag of pretzels.
And I HATE pretzels.
They're so bland...
Maybe I'll go make eggs for sweet Max and then I'll come sit here in the quiet and open a blank word document and see what comes out.