There are moments when stuff comes spilling out. Maybe it’s late at night. Maybe it’s when you’re punchy or stressed. Maybe it’s when something bad has happened or even something good. Your heart is full. The words come pouring out, and for once, you don’t really care whether they’re any good. You just want to rant.
Here’s my rant. I’d sure like to hear one of yours.
I need to write.
I need to write!! I need to write!! Damn! The Oscars are on, the dishes aren’t done, tomorrow is Monday again, and all I can think of is, “Let me back to the blank page. That’s where I find what I need.”
Maybe this is craziness. Maybe. But it’s my craziness. My space. My deliverance. I need this space. To let the stuff talk to me, to see what meaning lurks, to trust that fingers moving on keys will spell out something that I can latch onto, oh damn, will they?
Why am I back here? Stupid question. I’m back here because I love it so, because somehow this is home, because I have hope, and this is where hope leads me.
So many ideas lurk. So many thoughts fester. So much wants OUT, and all those limitations of life while welcome (hey, it’s stuff I picked, after all), condense it into a yearning so strong that I cannot resist.
I wish for time. I wish for more words. I wish to finish some of the pieces I’ve started. Jeepers, I don’t even care much if anyone reads it; I just want to write. I just want to write.