To everyone who has had to deal with me today: I'm sorry. Apparently I'm on an emotional tear because I can't shut my mouth, can't mind my own business, and can't stop chewing other people out for using up my precious air. Please disregard any and all bitchfests for the next 24 hours - hopefully I'll be able to rein myself back in by then.
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.
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