As the earth and sun continued their perpetual tango through the sky, the only visible proof of imperceptible motion was the small line of sunlight moving across my bed. Angling ever closer to my pinched eyes, it threatened to spoil the raw and uncomplicated beauty of Saturday morning somnolence.
When I'm in bed shifting from unconscious to reasonably-capable-of-thinking, these are the kind of descriptive sentences I formulate in my mind to try to rev my cerebral engines. I yearn to write more often, calling words to me and stringing them together in a tapestry of thoughts. In a different world, I would be sitting in some richly literary den writing for hours each day. If there had to be distractions, they would be in the form of classical music playing gently in the background. I would sit there, wishing I liked herbal tea and wearing black turtlenecks.
My thoughts would dance through my brain and exit through my fingers, while the conscious ME was just the tool that allowed them to filter through space. That's how writing is for me: essentially effortless. I have so many thoughts and ideas running chaotically through my being that I need to give them an outlet or they will eat me from the inside. They have a frighteningly real life of their own and they do not like to be ignored. This is why I started a blog: a place to plop down my random musings on the ironies and amusing contradictions of the world I know.
Giving them an outlet is like giving them wings to fly away from me and release the tension inside. To my 28 Google Reader subscribers and others who just flit this way on occasion, thanks for giving me that extra incentive to keep going. Someday, you'll turn around and I'll amaze you with what I've done. Someday when I don't have Sesame Street muddling my inner sanctum or children emptying flour onto the floor while I'm emptying my mental images onto paper.
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