I just don't get it, this inability to take action. Those last ten words add up to more than I have written in a month, if you don't count snappy emails and terse business memos.
I used to be such a creative person. I handpainted my children's dressers, not because I couldn't afford new ones, but because I wanted to! I blogged, I plotted, I tinkered, I painted, I edited, I mused....
(I wrote and designed the ebook & cover you see at left)
And for the last six months, nothing. Nada. Zip.
My most creative thought today was, well shit! I forgot that too! I am seriously worried that I have lost "the essense of me". Before I had kids, or at least the second kid, I was a much more interesting person. But now that I have a 4 and a 5 year old, I feel so much duller.
Maybe it's because I've always been a solitary person, and now I have nothing to myself. I don't mean to imply that I sat home reading a dusty tome while others where out tapping a keggar. I enjoyed binge drinking until I passed out, fell down concrete steps and awoke sitting in the passenger seat of my white camero covered in vomitus-- for example-- just as much as the next gal. But I digress...
What I mean to say is that I've always cherish time to myself. Stretches of time where my brain mixes and molds the silly putty of creativity, finally sputtering out a perfect Mr. Potato Head replica. Now, I don't have time to ferment the grains. I am not a machine, dammit. I can't just spew creative juices all over the paper at will. I cannot gleek.
Great, now I'm not only aging and dull, but apparently somewhat touched in the head.
I'm off to the bizarro sleep world that I thrive in, because, in my dreams, it is weird NOT to be weird.
~K.
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