45 days without a bit of emmy appleseed I’ve missed writing. I have. The click clack clatter of my fingers as they negotiate with the keyboard for a thought or two. Lately the thoughts have been stopped up in my mind, detoured so they recycle and eventually fade.
Call it writer’s block..
That would explain the detour.
Stupid guys with their orange vests (not the real ones, the ones in my brain…duh) directing my thoughts circling in my head instead of outward through my pen.
The truth is perhaps I have grown fearful. And the fear has left me immobile.
Which brings me to a Radiohead lyric that has caught me by the brain…
"for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself."
I hope I can find myself again, if I ever really possessed such a thing as my own self. I feel it thumping back again in each heartbeat as i tip type tip type these things down for you, non.existent emily readers to read. I get a real kick out of communicating.
But this paralysis of fear. This is something to watch for. Fear of the future, of how and where and what way to act to get there. The result? Lack of action. It’s as if I’m in the middle of a prairie, the grass is dead and itchy at my legs, the sun hot, uncomfortable, and there is nothing in any direction.
Robert Frost at least had two paths to choose from.