Sitting, drinking tumeric milk
Dear Mr. or Ms. somewhere out there,
If one doesn't have anything to write about in mind, how does one have writers block? Perhaps its the swollen tonsil pushing against the back of the throat that pulls the mind elsewhere but filling a page with script. Maybe the constant itchy tingling just to the left of the perfect centre of my head that draws my brain away. We can't forget about the 6:30 am eyes, showing off what they can while I live in a world of blurry colours. Of course they are better than 4:30 am eyes, but we don't see each other much so it's of no concern. I'd prefer 1 pm eyes and body but duties of the day must be done by this tired soldier. Alas I must wait for the fog to drain from the sluggish opening to the world today, let them cool down and descend back into their usual spot on the face.
Warm and bitter. Frothy and opaque honey-golden liquid makes its way into my mouth. The arm works on it's own this morning, not bothering to keep the itchy, warm and swollen head in the loop; it's better concentrating with what it has on it's plate already. Little yellow turmeric exterminators running to neutralize and destroy the invaders within the house trying to produce a mildly interesting piece of literature. Hurry little workers, reduce this sharp protrusion from the inside of my neck, forcing its way up and out of my ear. Break the barricade within my left sinus that seems to be growing and changing my face shape as it does. Hurry and take back the energy that is being sucked from every cell in the top most portion of my body, pulling this head ever lower and lower into a dreary 6 am state of restless peaceful sleep. Slowly the doors close out the light that keep me here, slowly my neck gives up on holding up it's world, slowly the effort of the muscles of my fingers and arms toughen and compress like they'd never moved before...slowly I'm leaving the world of turmeric and milk only to return with a puddle of drool on this little laptop and the letter 'g' stamped onto my cheek.
If one doesn't have anything to write about in mind, how does one have writers block? Perhaps its the swollen tonsil pushing against the back of the throat that pulls the mind elsewhere but filling a page with script. Maybe the constant itchy tingling just to the left of the perfect centre of my head that draws my brain away. We can't forget about the 6:30 am eyes, showing off what they can while I live in a world of blurry colours. Of course they are better than 4:30 am eyes, but we don't see each other much so it's of no concern. I'd prefer 1 pm eyes and body but duties of the day must be done by this tired soldier. Alas I must wait for the fog to drain from the sluggish opening to the world today, let them cool down and descend back into their usual spot on the face.
Warm and bitter. Frothy and opaque honey-golden liquid makes its way into my mouth. The arm works on it's own this morning, not bothering to keep the itchy, warm and swollen head in the loop; it's better concentrating with what it has on it's plate already. Little yellow turmeric exterminators running to neutralize and destroy the invaders within the house trying to produce a mildly interesting piece of literature. Hurry little workers, reduce this sharp protrusion from the inside of my neck, forcing its way up and out of my ear. Break the barricade within my left sinus that seems to be growing and changing my face shape as it does. Hurry and take back the energy that is being sucked from every cell in the top most portion of my body, pulling this head ever lower and lower into a dreary 6 am state of restless peaceful sleep. Slowly the doors close out the light that keep me here, slowly my neck gives up on holding up it's world, slowly the effort of the muscles of my fingers and arms toughen and compress like they'd never moved before...slowly I'm leaving the world of turmeric and milk only to return with a puddle of drool on this little laptop and the letter 'g' stamped onto my cheek.
Comments
Post a Comment