And I am feeling lost. Staring at my computer. The words have left, taken their ball and gone home. And here I sit and stare. This is nothing new. All writers know this. And I feel the push, the drive to create something brilliant and insecurity that simmers under the surface saying, “it will be crap.” And so I sit and stare. Lost in my circle. Create. I can’t. I have to. It’ll suck. Time slowly ticking. And I sit and stare. All the characters that I danced with yesterday, even during breakfast, have moved on with their day, gone to their jobs, met their lovers at seedy hotels, boarded airplanes for paradise. And I sit and stare. Tick tock goes the clock. Eyes fade and the screen is a blur of white like staring into the sun. Trying to fight time, like a boxer trying to get the last punch in before the bell. Trying to find inspiration, like an artist sees the world. I look over my outlines. Over my ideas. My list of projects. And nothing comes. Time has stopped like watching the clock on the last of day of school before summer vacation. Eternity has set in. My mind wanders like a leaf in the wind. My creative gone and forgotten like a prisoner on death row. So, I sit and stare. Force myself to wait. To be patient. Like a child waiting for mailman. Like a dog waiting for dinner. Like people waiting for the bus. I know it will come. I just have to wait. Patiently.
She exists. Even if she is a faint memory. She is always there. Watching. Waiting. Wishing. She is the angel you forget about. The angel you cling to. Because at the end of everyday, there are those who love unconditionally. Those who make the world a better place. And then there are those who eagerly await your return. All because of love. She is there. She is always there. Sometimes, you just have to look.
Today is the first day, another beginning. Another way we (I) find myself committing to a list of to do’s, goals, aspirations and intentions. And sometime along the way, I get lost. I forget. Get to busy living life. Yet, I am not really living am I. I get too busy going through the motions and forget everything I mapped to accomplish. I want to say this year is different. That I have a system in place. That feels clique. Old. Warn out. As if I have heard it before. Because I have. That is not going to stop me. I am committing. Committing to writing. To creating. To making a difference. One day at a time. One step at time. Here’s to new starts. Here’s to hope!
Who better than a writer to create a poetic inspirational New Year wish. I couldn’t have said it better, so in the words of Neil Gaiman, I wish you in the coming year…
“Be kind to yourself in the year ahead.
Remember to forgive yourself, and to forgive others. It’s too easy to be outraged these days, so much harder to change things, to reach out, to understand.
Try to make your time matter: minutes and hours and days and weeks can blow away like dead leaves, with nothing to show but time you spent not quite ever doing things, or time you spent waiting to begin.
Meet new people and talk to them. Make new things and show them to people who might enjoy them.
Hug too much. Smile too much. And, when you can, love.”
Her hands were sweaty. Her heart raced. Her stomach turned its empty contents. Her thoughts spun a million magnificent webs, none of which reflected rays of reality. There she sat, staring out the window. Questioning herself. Doubting herself. Fingers tapping the table. Legs bouncing. Watching the people rush by. Wishing at this moment, she could be one of them. One of the million people hurrying elsewhere. She wanted to be anywhere but here. She felt sick. Her empty stomach revolting. The feelings crawling up into her throat. Was the bathroom close? Swallowing it all down. Waiting and wishing she had said no.
Not sure where I am going with these series of very short story writing and if I can somehow weave them together. Guess we will see.
Layer upon layer. Hidden beneath her protective armor. Looking down. Staring at the ground. Never looking up. Never making eye contact. Avoiding. Shrinking. Slowly fading into the scenery. The thousand other faces bleeding together. Caught in the tide of society, the emotionless waves of people moving. Oblivious. Lost souls. Together they were nothing. Invisible just how she longed to be.