Funny how a week passes these days and you don't even realize it. I often get distracted with innane things that I often forget about all the things I want to do. Sometimes these things aern't quite innane, but keeps me busy with life. Since it was Tommy's birthday last week I kept myself busy running around and with a fwe other added events I found I didn't have much time for myself and the blog was something that had to go. Work has been busy so I haven't been able to take a bite of time out and update this until today. And even now I feel a bit guilty about it.

Writing...In my mind I hear things I want to write, sentences, scenes, characters and the like, but I've been unable to get them down on paper. Sometimes I feel everything is like a tug-o-war and I give up and do the easiest thing. Then I remark to my own conscious how much of an idiot I am for not doing it. Sigh. Then there are times I wish I had that someone near me who believed in me so much she would literally hassle me. But in reality no one else can make me do anything, it all comes down to me doing it. It is hard. Not the act of writing, but the acceptance of what I write to myself. Is this the best I can do and usually I find I tell myself no and give up. Yet I hear other people tell me how wonderful it is, but then fade into the shadows. I don't blame them. My life isn't worth drawing words out onto paper or maybe I haven't found exactly what I want to say. In either case I've made no bonds with anyone so close that my talent keeps them going on a daily basis, because of that I often wonder if I do have the talent. Isn't that arrogant? Or self-pity? Yeah I know, scream at me to stop whining and either write or not. It isn't really about that you know. Yes I believe I have a semblance of talent to get things into print, but that really isn't my goal at this point. Sharing...my soul. Extreme passion spilled from my heart to the page into someone's mind and then ingested into her soul. What wonderful fantasies I have...some better than others, huh?

me