It’s not for want of things to write that I stumble today, it’s having too much, too many different things that I want to say… but without the time to do it, to write what I need to say for the words I release to help me at all.
It’s 2:20pm on a grey & wet rainy Monday afternoon, & I’m still sitting on my bed in socks & my pajamas. After having the time slip by unnoticed while I made jewelry last night until 4:30am & waking up long after I prefer to, the day is shorter than I want it to be today.
Maybe one of these days I’ll work on growing the habit of waking up at a decent hour, but of course that would mean getting to sleep at one – stopping in the middle of a piece or not starting a new one that I want to, just for the reward of the morning…
I’ll figure it out. Maybe someday soon actually have something like a schedule instead of each day and its rhythm being entirely different – chaotic without the chaos.
Until then, however, sometimes I’ll only have time to write something like this, instead of what I really wish to write about – but at least I’m writing regularly again, and as I found today – at least it’s starting to edge over to the needed therapy & introspection that it has been for me so beautifully & so raw in the past.
And it’s becoming something, again, that I need to do.