Of Dams and Learning to Ride Again
5.9.06What got in the way of words? Where was the dam that preserved them from the Manifesto? Was the dam so large that the words simply found no way to push through onto paper or screen, one alphabet at a time? It would seem so. For days now words in jagged ended sentences have welled up within me, pooled in ever growing puddles whose depth only increases and whose surface only grows more stagnant.
For days I anguished. What had halted the course of my words? Why had they pooled and why wouldn't they flow? I found no solace in answers, only excuses. There's no time, there's too much to do, there's nothing to write about, (and the lousiest of the lot) there's no time to think. There's been enough to write about, much to think about, time to write as well- though none of it has been written about, not much has been thought about and time has most definitely been wasted.
I must confess, there has been much to get used to over the last couple of months and I've taken my time with it. The Manifesto was pushed to the corners of my memory. And I feel like a bad mother for it...
I've been crazy restless for the last couple of days and I had no clue why. I took long walks, listened to music, worked hard at ungodly hours, spoke to old friends, wrote on my walls, discovered the terrace- all to calm the restlessness. Nothing worked. Tonight, all efforts having failed miserably, I paced the terrace looking for something, someone to blame. What was it? Why was I so restless? Was it stress? Was it a project? Was it a person? Was it homesickness?
Then finally singular words peeped through chinks in the dam. Soon, sentences. Nothing coherent still.
I feel like I'm wobbling on an the old worn seat of my rickety bicycle. I'll fall off a few times before I ride like I used to. It is comforting to give the restlessness a cause though. And to feel the words trickle again.
For days I anguished. What had halted the course of my words? Why had they pooled and why wouldn't they flow? I found no solace in answers, only excuses. There's no time, there's too much to do, there's nothing to write about, (and the lousiest of the lot) there's no time to think. There's been enough to write about, much to think about, time to write as well- though none of it has been written about, not much has been thought about and time has most definitely been wasted.
I must confess, there has been much to get used to over the last couple of months and I've taken my time with it. The Manifesto was pushed to the corners of my memory. And I feel like a bad mother for it...
I've been crazy restless for the last couple of days and I had no clue why. I took long walks, listened to music, worked hard at ungodly hours, spoke to old friends, wrote on my walls, discovered the terrace- all to calm the restlessness. Nothing worked. Tonight, all efforts having failed miserably, I paced the terrace looking for something, someone to blame. What was it? Why was I so restless? Was it stress? Was it a project? Was it a person? Was it homesickness?
Then finally singular words peeped through chinks in the dam. Soon, sentences. Nothing coherent still.
I feel like I'm wobbling on an the old worn seat of my rickety bicycle. I'll fall off a few times before I ride like I used to. It is comforting to give the restlessness a cause though. And to feel the words trickle again.
