Oh dear. The words have dried up. Withered ashes in the cold, grey hearth of my creativity. How will I write today, without any words?
In my mind’s eye, I see the poor, soft, grey, shrivelled cinders curling slowly in the dying smoke of an exhausted imagination, all fight dissipated … extinguished.
Could it be those infinite, interminable, inky black nights, grinding my teeth into the white grit of sleeplessness?
Sandman’s dust gathers behind chalky eyelids, caking lashes together into a painful net, barring my sight.
Another hot, black cup of Jo steams its way through my arteries. My heart pumps painfully into action, but the fog in my brain barely wafts off its cranial foundation before settling back in force. The coffee steam seems to be condensing in my mind, clouding my concentration even further. My eyes steadfastly resist my urging.
Wake up! Look! See!
No. Stubborn pupils, they defy my supplication … and drift …
Fatigue has emptied my tissues of liquid. I am dry from the top of my once-creative brain to the tips of my bare, unpainted toenails. My skin is tissue paper, clinging half-heartedly to the juiceless flesh beneath.
Must. Drink. Water.
It is 10:45. I am late and behind, but I have already accomplished two things at work, and three at home. Perhaps that is better than none at all.
Of course it is.
I am committing to committing to far, far less. One thing per day in each sphere, and more is a bonus.
So I am already ahead of schedule.
The main thing I need to do today is send invoices and demand payment.
Then write and write and write … in the absence of words, how will I do that?
Perhaps I can through nouns, verbs and adjectives at the screen and hope for the best.
This week I finally comprehended that I really am not as good at Grammar Nazism as I thought I was. It’s always been “my thing”. The One Thing I can do better than anyone else. But no. It’s not. I was deluded and now, in retrospect, it’s hard to see how I ever held that notion. Or held it so long. Even in terms of people I know, I am, at best, one of the three best THAT I KNOW. And there are billions more of us out there. Well, millions, at any rate. Probably.
I expected to be deeply disappointed when I learned that truth. (Did I expect to find this out some day? I don’t know.) But in fact, I’m relieved. I’m just a person. As good as any, better than some, worse than many. Just me. As good as I can be right in this moment (with too little sleep and a very sore arm from too much typing (that’s not a thing!)).
I can experiment and practise and do more and new and different things and NEVER HAVE TO BE PERFECT. Ever. At all. I can just experiment an experience and BE.
It’s amazingly liberating.