How time flies.
Saturday, June 4th, 2:15pm - no resposibilities. Time on my hands. Turn on some music and type a bit. "My Weekend Music" playlist on the WMP. First song, randomly chosen by the player, is "In My Life" by John Lennon. That'll do just fine. It's right where my brain is. Spot on.
I'm searching. Searching for my muse. A sad thing to have no muse. Sadder not to look for him/her/it. I thought it was Rik, but that has run it's creative course I 'm sad to say. In the interim I am clinging to thoughts. Pulling words and phrases from sentences, songs, commercials, internet. Never bothering to write them down though. I'm painting the walls just to have an excuse to paint....and that desire dried up post-completion as well.
Where are the words? Where are the dreams, fantasies, hopes, interests, attempts... Ah, where is my muse?
Acrophobia came back...and where are my words?? I was brilliant at that game 6 years ago. I can't come up with words that begin with 'R' anymore. I feel like a woman who raises children. I have no more adult words. So little adult conversation. Like I turned something off when I took the "easier" job. Like I flipped a switch to the side that says "Don't have to think logically anymore." I don't analyze except in the minor sense. A little spreadsheet with logic no one else will bother to even acknowledge. Creativity...no, the desire to be creative...has died there. Ah. I was good. I was freaking amazing. Couldn't fail. Impressed everyone. Worked HARD. DEFINED myself by it. But I always knew life was about more. I always knew I was stiffling my dreams.......
Was I wrong? No. I'm just... complacent.
