Tonight, I am angry. I’m a sticky mess of hurt-for-real and wallowing in butthurt. So much butthurt. I want to be eating nachos and drinking something fizzy that fucks up my equilibrium. I want to cast off my damnable workpants. I scream at the moon and a handful of select dillwads. I want to sulk.
Instead, I am at Tickled Ink’s Wednesday writing group meet-up. I am socializing. I am participating in the conversation. I’m writing. I don’t want to. I want to be drunk, pantless and ugly crying.
But what I want more is to be a drunk, pantless, ugly-crying published writer. So I am writing. Even though my WIP’s current chapter: the reclamation of a burnt out villa doesn’t jive with my current headspace.
Though, I internally “awwwed” at that description of my chapter, so I guess what I lack in headspace, I’m making up for on the whole my-heart’s-in-it thing. Or clinging at straws. Not picky about what gets me through this patch. Just hoping to out-ramble the bramble.
Wish me words. Wish me creativity. Wish me wings to rise above.