I've been up since 8:30.
Eff my life. I can't even sleep now.
I'm listening to my songza list after I finally finished clearing up and repacking (er... unpacking?) my stuff where it belongs and only taking up one half of the room.
Well, I found something I scribbled in the car today on the way here. I was getting whimsical and broody. :shrug: Make of it what you will. I usually don't write second person, either. Go figure.
It's like... climbing a rock wall, sometimes. Bouldering, not rapel, because no one can catch you in your own mind where the words live. You've set out, determined or not, and in the swing of things, whether you like it or not, when something doesn't stick right. You stick. Stuck. You've climbed (written) yourself into a corner and you can see that handhold, but it's too far. You don't know it's there, nothing is defined and concrete until the word comes to you (and you make it real) and you're stuck grasping, stretching, reaching for just the right one.
Mouth twists, words whispered, mumbled, rejected in turn because, damn it, nuances are important. Then something slips. You're losing that thought,t he flow's running dry (running right by you too fast and you can't catch on) and you're so desperate not to be left behind (to be defeated, to climb down) you bunch the muscles and leap, praying that the connotation is right, that your fingertips will catch on the right rock and not fall.
A lot of times it's not, and you crash, jumping up to try again, bulling past the defiant word that won't come and charging ahead before the rest of it spins away, the thoughts coming too fast for your fingers to possibly keep up. And you feel the muscle burn, seeping deep because you're sinking your teeth into something good and the words taste right when you say them to yourself as you read in your head and suddenly you're at the peak, on top of the boulder, the hard part conquered but another task ahead of you.
The coming down, pulling it back, linking it together, bringing it all down from the climax without killing it (yourself).
Crap.
You forgot you were afraid of heights.
I'm listening to my songza list after I finally finished clearing up and repacking (er... unpacking?) my stuff where it belongs and only taking up one half of the room.
Well, I found something I scribbled in the car today on the way here. I was getting whimsical and broody. :shrug: Make of it what you will. I usually don't write second person, either. Go figure.
It's like... climbing a rock wall, sometimes. Bouldering, not rapel, because no one can catch you in your own mind where the words live. You've set out, determined or not, and in the swing of things, whether you like it or not, when something doesn't stick right. You stick. Stuck. You've climbed (written) yourself into a corner and you can see that handhold, but it's too far. You don't know it's there, nothing is defined and concrete until the word comes to you (and you make it real) and you're stuck grasping, stretching, reaching for just the right one.
Mouth twists, words whispered, mumbled, rejected in turn because, damn it, nuances are important. Then something slips. You're losing that thought,t he flow's running dry (running right by you too fast and you can't catch on) and you're so desperate not to be left behind (to be defeated, to climb down) you bunch the muscles and leap, praying that the connotation is right, that your fingertips will catch on the right rock and not fall.
A lot of times it's not, and you crash, jumping up to try again, bulling past the defiant word that won't come and charging ahead before the rest of it spins away, the thoughts coming too fast for your fingers to possibly keep up. And you feel the muscle burn, seeping deep because you're sinking your teeth into something good and the words taste right when you say them to yourself as you read in your head and suddenly you're at the peak, on top of the boulder, the hard part conquered but another task ahead of you.
The coming down, pulling it back, linking it together, bringing it all down from the climax without killing it (yourself).
Crap.
You forgot you were afraid of heights.