I really hate it when I have so much to say, and no words to say it. With writing being one of my only therapeutic outlets, it’s suffocating to not be able to speak my mind. I’m sitting on the deck of my grandparents’ condo in Florida, wishing that my view of the open ocean combined with my large glass of wine could stir some creative thought. On the contrary. I have nothing, absolutely nothing. But because I need to mark this as a particularly thoughtful time, I just needed to post something. Perhaps I’m not sure what to think, what to feel, or how to act. There’s a reason I live with high walls…actually, there are multiple reasons. I hate feeling emotionally frantic, which is so often the result of merely peaking over the walls. I was so nestled in – completely comfortable sitting on my MacBook, in my bed with my walls high around me, guarding me from reality. Now I’m a sitting duck, and I don’t like it. There’s a really good chance that some asshole could shoot me down, then send his labrador retriever after me.
Meh. Here’s to writing, but making little sense.