To my regular readers: apologies in advance for the darker tone of this post, I know it doesn’t ‘fit’ with the general theme of the blog. What can I say, even this inane housewife has her not-so-frivolous moments.
I need to write. What is there to say? Honestly, I’m not too sure. There is an intangible feeling of something within me that I can’t completely grasp. Its elusive, the more I try to grasp it, to understand it, to wrestle it to the ground and unmask it for for it is, it slips through my fingers like smoke only to reappear a little while later, just out of reach again. What is this feeling inside me? Is it bewilderment, depression, stress, frustration? I don’t know. It’s like that thought at the edge of your consciousness, so clear when half-asleep but no more real then fairy lights in the nighttime marshes. The more I try to grasp it, the more elusive is becomes, dancing on the tip of my tongue, on the fringes of my vision, so close yet always just out of reach. What is this feeling that I have? I do not know. All I know is that I have to write, and through the tapping of the keyboard, through the flowing ink of my pen, I will somehow rid myself of this intangible feeling, or perhaps finally see it for what it is. So I must write, write to preserve my sanity, to keep feelings of hopelessness at bay, to keep this unknown feeling from consuming me completely.
Why do you write?