It happened. As I feared it would. I started writing out the post on my nifty version of associative thinking. It's like oatmeal people, it's better hot. I let it get cold. And while it held together well, it wasn't smooth. There was an internal dialogue between my whiner self and the bitch (another part of myself, I have many, we will all be well acquainted one day, promise). It was fairly awesome -you have no idea how hard it is for me to be conceited in this regard, but I figure if you fake confidence long enough it becomes natural- but it was the only portion of the whole thing I was impressed with and out of context it was useless. So, to the back burner it has been relegated, one day I may revisit it.
I have discovered a nasty little side effect of blogging. I feel obligated to post often. There are two reasons for this, 1)because I promised myself I would and if you can't keep a promise to yourself...yadda yadda and 2) because I wouldn't want to disappoint the people who read my blog. I started this blog so that I could flex my writer's muscle, which is more or less working, some days are better than others. I told a few people I know whose opinions I trust and asked them to read and give me feedback. Aside from incessantly harassing those whose opinions are most important, I also find my self obsessively hoping someone I don't know has commented . I view my own profile regularly to see how many visits I have had. I mention this only because I read a post this evening by a blogger I have kind of, sort of been following because I am impressed by her writing and she mentioned behaving in the same manner. I guess what I am trying to say is it's nice to know there are other bloggers who have the same need for validation, even those who have been at this longer. I don't feel quite as lame anymore. Aaaaand that's enough sharing.
Just in case you didn't come here tonight for Confessions with Eyvi, I will leave you with a poem I have written. First poem in a long time. Be gentle.
My Mind Mirrors The Aging Season
My thoughts, heavy and grey.
Dark, dreary, always falling.
I become introspective, fold in
Wrap myself in my imagination
Reality is an intruder
A fact I cannot escape.
I dream and sleep becomes my salvation.
Like a drug that promises,
But only masks.
And it becomes harder.
Harder to face my unwelcomed guest,
To make my clean escape.
And I hate it, slumber and waking.
For false promises of freedom
For reminders of chains, anchors.
I embrace the anchors, the reminders
And find strength at the bottom of this body of water,
That caresses me, tempts me.
But there is always light behind the clouds.
And I hold my anchor, cling to it.
Praying the clouds in my mind, above the water,
Part before I have to draw breath again.