No, I am not talking about my bowels.
I am talking about my brain. Did you know that my love of writing started back when I was a child? Yup, I was the "interviewer" for my elementary school paper and pretty darn good I must say, and then I became a contributor to the local high school annuals. As a teenager, my love of writing formed into the shape of sugary love struck poetry. And by the time I became an adult, it was put on a shelf, forgotten and dusty, and patiently waiting for that moment I would rediscover my love affair with the written word.
I would spend the next two years, here, writing from two completely different and conflicting perspectives of my life. From Tracy, the raw, emotional person who struggled with daily limitations, to Tracy, the klutz who often scratched her head, and sometimes her butt, in an attempt to figure out why she attracted the craziest scenarios.
I have to admit, that while most seem to have loved my crazy spins on my daily life, I personally was much more enthralled with the exposed version of myself. That particular form of writing seemed to take no effort whatsoever. It just came from a place deep in my heart and the words would ultimately pour from my fingers onto the page, almost like a portal had opened up and brought the best that I could offer. Often, I would find myself wiped, tired, sometimes crying, almost always emotionally drained and proud of those rare moments. I have to tell you that this is hard for me to say as I often downplay my abilities.
Writing became my passion, and I finally felt that I had artistically found my voice, kind of a connection to a desire that was tired of being suppressed.
Lately tho, I am finding the well has dried up a tad. I neither feel raw, nor have I succumbed lately to any embarrassing moments in my life. Everything has been moving along somewhat smoothly. Almost blase unfortunately. And I hate to even use that word, in case the fates strike me down with a big old fall smack on my rather large head in the middle of an intersection. But the fact is, I have had a huge reduction in pain, due to my regimental eating and walking plan and I have been surrounded in nothing but mind numbing, hair pulling complacency that seems to have turned me into nothing short of a boring old woman, and you know, it's starting to scare the proverbial sh*t right out of me.
I am at a loss, literally. I suppose I am finally suffering from writer's block. And I am not liking it.
I suppose that I am just going to have to be patient until I am once again inspired, but I think that in the meantime, perhaps I should start perusing the aisles of the local pharmacy. Maybe they have something there that not only cleans out bowels, but cleans out cobwebbed, infested brains, because I have to tell you, I am not enjoying this blockage of a different kind.
Until Next Time.