[title]
2006-02-15, 11:02

My grasp on my inner voice has been tenuous at best, lately. An old story for me, oh maker of long gaps without writing. I don't want this place to be just a daily update of goings on, a.k.a. baby did this today, I screwed that up yesterday, we went there over the weekend, etc. Nobody wants to read that, especially me. While it's nice to have a record of these things for future reference, that's not what this is about. If I want a chronology, I'll set up a baby blog or something.

The thing is, it's not just my writing that's dwindling; it's me that's dwindling. I feel like my flame is almost out, sputtering from lack of... what? Fuel? Air? Or maybe it's the idea of fire itself that's fading, the very concept losing the will to Be.

But that can't be. I know what fire is; I want it. The lesser it becomes, the more aware of it I become. It's a lack of Air; that must be the thing. That weakly guttering flame is being choked by a miasma of melancholy that settles over my chest like a moonless night. That vapor vibrates with every sad song, every word of bad news, every scene of dark emotion. It's slowly killing me, emptying me. Its tendrils have worked their way into every aspect of my being. I can't feel happiness without being reminded of the sadness that lurks beneath; smiling cracks the thin skein of ice, revealing the dark water below.

But that's just today. Or another day. But maybe not tomorrow.

I couldn't even think of a title.

-- End Transmission --