and after a sleepy, sated summer I am humming below my own surface, ready.
my happiness and my creativity are different beasts and they feed from different sources. balance – the key element that, when absent from my life, causes a yo-yo effect that leaves me up and down and never ever centered – is missing once again. there is an anxiousness that lingers through dry, professional phone calls; through bank transactions; through the cursory interaction of two tired people at the end of a long day.
I am, at least partially, always lying about something.
to feed the creative beast is, at least partially, a betrayal of the happy beast. to be happy betrays no one but the parts of me that need to be expressed – that need fuel to convert. but how to walk the tightrope between what is desirable and what is appropriate? how to consume without being consumed?
the familiar flutterings of the disassembled pieces struggling to rejoin, the fight to keep them separate, the feeling of futility, of inevitability, of fingernails scrabbling on a cold, stone wall.
“I am in here”
but I am out here, too.