Staring at the screen, thinking of you;
Wondering if I'm on your mind, too;
Pondering whether your eyes scroll my page;
Remembering us at a different age;
Imagining words too afraid to say...then.
Wishing opportunities came my way...now.
Dreaming realities seen only staring at the screen.
Idea after idea popped into my head during my commute this morning. Some of them strung together so fluidly I'd find myself cruising down paths of text. On each avenue, I'd lean back in my seat, relaxing into the ride. Without fail, each time, I'd be jolted upright by the sudden appearance of a big, red wall. Braking quickly to avoid impending collision, I'd begin looking for another road paved with thoughts from whatever ideas surfaced next.
As my ability to find new paths grew more and more futile, I surrendered to the need to confront the source of those walls, My Superego. This culprit is HUGE, walks loudly, and carries a red-ink stick. I tend to give in to it most of the time thereby leading a pretty cloistered life. This may be an asset for a single mom seeking to set a good example for daughters; however, for a novice writer attempting to develop prose, it's a major deficit.
The super-constructor of walls tells me: I can't write about that idea. Nope, can't write about that one, either. And, if I wrote about THAT one... After all, what are the moral/relational/emotional/legal/whatever-al implications!?
Enough! I've allowed my red pen to edit a lot of my life. This year, in this space, my written life will be free. I know the transition won't be easy; but, I'm looking forward to enjoying the ride!