You know, I used to be very much opposed to mood-altering prescription drugs - valium, thorazine, etc. - because I felt that they were over-prescribed to "solve" problems, when it seemed to me that they only masked the problems and never really solved anything. And yet today, it seems like if you aren't on meds, then there's something wrong with you. I've seen them help people cope with daily living, and I've seen them become just one more thing the person has a dependency for, so I'm not so sure what I think anymore. There are times when I wish things were more black and white, instead of so many shades of grey. You know, grey's my favorite color....
Here I stand again, speaking to an empty room. My thoughts aren't worth the cyberspace they would take up if I cared to tweet or post to Facebook, but here I stand anyway. I had no idea how long it had been since my muse had forced me to write. I used to write almost daily, poetry mostly, when I was younger and believed that someone cared what I had to say. I wanted to be e.e. cummings or T.S. Eliot or anyone who seemed to be so comfortable in his own skin to pour out his emotions onto a blank page. It took me a few years to realize that the writers who filled my pantheon of literary deities were not that comfortable after all, but wrote because not writing was more painful than the spilling of emotion. So I think I will take up my keyboard once more, wade out into the battle, and write.
Comments