however, i am not idle. not today. after a shower, i pushed our tumbleweed dust balls into a pile and swept them into the hovering dustpan. i did one load of laundry and folded in my chair while it was still warm. side note: posture is very important while folding. my upper back started to ache and i sat up a little straighter. i them dumped the contents of our wardrobe onto the bed and re-folded each item. second side note: by this time my back had started screaming. third side note: i am an old woman.
this is me schooling you in the organizational department.
that is a tiny wardrobe, folks.
i am so scared that i have lost my words. that they have been slowly trickling out as i sleep and i wake up every morning with less and less to say. that as the years shuffle by i will lose my drive to say things i have never said before. it is a struggle to even finish this thought because it has stopped short,in my brain, and the only thing prodding it on is my desperation not to accept this sad fact. my inspiration has sunk into the floorboards beneath me as i have walked above them - down the hallways, back up the hallways, my hand dragging along the drywall, skin cells slipping away. or maybe it has risen into the atmosphere through a sharp inhale from the cold, or escaped as smoke billowing in a heavy exhale while i am thinking on other things, or into these keys as the pads of my fingers rest on them, waiting, and forcing, words, and more words. or as i turn the key, my palm clutching the gear shift, i shift, shift-up, down, up, up, 3rd, 4th, 5th, down, down, down... it has fled from me during these acts, in these repetitions that have become my days.
or maybe these are the ways that i find it. and maybe it is a lie to believe that inspiration has an end. maybe.
i am looking in all the places i always look.
this new blog is an awful lot like my other blog.
oops.
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