Skip to content

Some times I forget …

January 7, 2013

Sometimes I forget what it feels like to be me.

I get buried in some physical or … occasionally, emotional pain. Or a cold or illness that only time can heal no matter how much echinacea tea I drink.

When like this, it’s as if I can only inch forward … get out of bed, keep the house (vaguely) clean, feed myself, care for the cats, answer only the emails that desperately need answering … I keep telling myself this illness/pain/hurdle will pass as it always does, but it feels like lip service.

Friends and family – those who may see or know me in this state – tell me to take it easy, that I work so hard that I deserve a break, etc. So, attempting to heed their advice, I read or watch movies or whatever, but still I’m constantly aware I’m only half available, only half engaged.

But then the day comes – perhaps a rainy, cold one like today, where my office is the warmest place in the house and I suddenly feel like checking out the top singles on iTunes ­– when I turn my mind to the current work in progress. I open the file or notebook, and I take up my pen or keyboard. It just happens, effortless. I don’t even think about it. The rhythm moves me, evokes the muse before I even realize it is happening.

And the words follow. The story flows through me. And I let it. I put everything else aside. I immerse in the story. I know everything. I create all.

Then today, perhaps hungry, I paused to realize and recognize the energy, the feeling.

I’m suddenly whole once again. No gradual gain of energy or warming up. I am suddenly me again.

Sometimes I forget what is feels like to be me.

It feels damn good.


Writing: Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Urban Fantasy, 1st Draft).

Listening: Marianas Trench’s “Stutter,” Tegan and Sara’s “Closer,” and “Don’t You Worry Child” by Swedish House Mafia.

Sipping: cool water

Eating: roast chicken sandwich with cheddar.

Cats: Darby and Parker are passed out and occupying the entire middle of the desk. Leo is watching the chickadees from the west window sill.

All is as it should be. Why can’t it always be this way? Ah, life.

I hope you catch the flow today as well.

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: