change of pace! It's morning. 8:40am, the dogs are sleeping, there's a little leftover snow on the ground, I'm in my pjs and watching the end of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on TCM.
I don't want any of my working/typing on here to become too constrained with routine. I don't want every entry to be at 9;30pm before I do pre-bedtime stuff.
The itch is back. The "stories in me" itch. I've been so afraid I'd never feel it again, that pull towards all the other lives that are not but are. that was unnecessarily purple prose, but ti stands as truth. Itchy, restless, wanting, that's the way to live. It makes one make up so many lovely things. I'm going to dig into the Word program this week and make myself type up the piece I wrote out in longhand about the girl in the circus. It's not even 100 wds, but it's something. I may very well fashion it into the beginning of Franklin Park Conservatory I very much like the idea of patients having very rich impossible back stories. I might re-type out the draft for FPC itself, just for the keyboard practice and the possibility of slipping into editing while typing.
I don't know why I'm so afraid it won't work, and that it won't be good. I mean, I know a lot of it has to be post-medication post-life-changing-breakdown fear that I'm too changed, too different, too sober. Too adapted to this civilian life. Too rooted in daily life. Too scared to let go and slip slip slide into other dimensions, then be expected to effortlessly slip right back...
part 2 10pm
I wonder if the girl from the circus wrote letters to her aerialist.
I wonder if I could open up another thread of letters to this aerialist, just a whole life in epistolary form, whether or not I even use half of it I want to do t, I think...
ooooh I'm actually kinda excited.
nervous
excited!
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