I meant it when I said I was going off the grid for awhile. I've been doing some fairly undisciplined writing, most of which I not suitable for any kind of public consumption. Let's just say the content is a bit "rough." But here's this, another rough ramble that it kind of sums up what all this writing is about. You know... if you're interested.
I’m beginning to believe that writing may be what saves me. I don’t even know what it’s saving me from – unless it’s myself, which is quite possible. I might even go so far as to say “likely.”
I find that although my mind pushes away the thought of sitting down “to write,” probably because it requires some sort of actual discipline to do it, my body actually craves it a bit. It’s almost as though I can feel myself taking in a deep Sun breath while my fingers, clickety-clicking across the keys, exhale all the toxic crap I’ve been harboring inside.
Is that a little too out there for you?
Well, I don’t know what to tell you. What I do know is that inside these formatted, 12-point Cambria walls I am entirely myself. I’m not anyone’s Mother or Manager or Therapist or Wife, I’m not a Sister or Aunt or Niece or even a Friend. While I’m not entirely certain about this I might even cease being Amy – because Amy brings a lot of baggage, you know. I think I’m just me. Just me, saving me from myself.
One word at a time.