Sometimes I freeze. Sometimes, the more I don't write, the more I can't write. Every thought, no matter how fleeting or well-formed, seems trite and unworthy. Information doesn't seem worth sharing, and there are times when things have happened that I simply won't talk about.
The last year was oppressive, deadly, but was it necessary or just what happened? I don't want to examine it too closely, and am content to sweep the ashes into the bin and call it forgettable. Somehow a new month, marking the end of that year, made it safe to go forward.
I breathe, and then I freeze. Words flee and I'm left with the melting snow of my thoughts. But melting implies a thaw.
Go listen to some good music: "Freeze" from the album Vapor Trails by Rush. September didn't begin auspiciously. So after a day of burning with holy and righteous rage, I am trying to start again. And listening to "Secret Touch" off the same album, as I am right now, somehow makes me feel very much better. A healing hand, indeed.