I’m escaping.
I walk, slowly and carefully. I think about where I will place each foot, moving consciously. I tread lightly on the outside of each foot.
I walk barefoot through the grass. Dew clings to my feet and the stars sit lightly above my head. The moon is almost full and I walk underneath it, ghostlike.
The silence is palpable out here. Like the dark, it coats everything. I make no noise as I walk to the fenceline and stand, watching the sky. The glow from the city sits above the horizon and in the distance, a truck roars past. I hear my front door click as my partner steps outside for a cigarette.
With that click I come back to myself and I realise how cold I am. Stepping gingerly I head back to the house.
What were you doing?
Nothing. Just watching.
Oh. It’s cold out here.
Yes. I’m going inside now.
I love you.
I love you too.
The door clicks behind me and I step inside.
I’m so glad to see this other blog. You are a gifted writer. Many writers say that they write because it is less painful than not writing. Sometimes procrastination is part of process. You might consider reading Anne Lamont’s book Bird by Bird about the difficulties of needing to write.
So, yeah, I think I’ve got you beat. I sat down and read through several months of your archives (and you are MUCH better than I am at getting your heiny in front of a computer and actually typing).
That would be several months of archives of ALL THREE OF YOUR BLOGS.
I then became so inspired to write that I sat down and started writing (or rather, typing)… but it was coming out all wrong. I couldn’t make it work. I typed, erased, typed, erased, re-typed, re-re-erased…. until finally I figured out the problem.
Apparently I like your writing style so much that I wasn’t inspired just to write, but rather to try to turn into you. Everything I wrote was a watered-down version of something you would probably write. I finally gave up, and came to the conclusion that if I want to write, I can’t read you on the same night, because your voice is so strong that it sucks me up and steals my writing voice. 🙂 Keep at it, girl. Bleed out that pain into words— you kick a** at it.
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