Trying to revive the creative flow has been a greater challenge than losing the weight from holidays past. I honestly feel like I have been held captive with my mind and hands bound in vice grips that squeeze tighter with every attempt to break loose.
I had hoped that by this time, I would have a story to edit or some rough draft to at least print and gripe about; nope, just my previous fifty pages of fluff clipped into a plastic binder sitting on an anonymous shelf attracting dust.
Sometimes, I wonder what happens to the happy spewings of the crazy woman I find myself to be, when I am so giddy and electrified. I secretly toy with the idea that I am bipolar, just because the two extremes live and battle within me so often. Maybe, if I were right and not joking, I would have a little peace of mind or maybe not.
The underlying tone seems to be so dark and looming. The contrast is that I envision myself as a sparkly gem in the wrong setting. Oh the magic I could bring, should I find myself in the right setting accented with the 20 diamonds, in 2 rows of 10 diamonds encrusted in the white gold around me. I would see my owner smile and beam proud as she wore me on her hand.
Realistically, I relate to the dark sinews of gutter life. The inner beast cries for attention, when outwardly I shun it. The anger I feel seething beneath my skin has yet to be quelched with any appeasement I can offer it. I wonder what forms of homeopathetic remedies I can scrounge. I fear the coward vices that I will find comfort. Tension rests in my shoulders, how do I find my way back?
