bloodteethandflame

Sometimes, I wish that I could sit and write all day.

So much stuff on my mind.

But I wake up every day promising myself that I’ll get to the mundane things, like folding laundry, or sorting out the filing cabinets, but then, things occur to me.

I get ideas.

I have epiphanies.

Connections between things begin to strike me, and I have this incredible need to write them down…because I fear that I’ll forget what it was that I meant to say, what I sought to remember, and everything seems so fucking important.

Not so important as to share with the blogosphere as much as it’s important to me that I don’t forget the connections that I came to.  I feel like I am remembering a lot of stuff that I had previously forgotten, lately.

So, I write in my notebook -my paper journal – and I promise myself that I will flesh it out later, and I hope that I don’t forget where I was going entirely, if I should find myself going back -after I’m done with the laundry — to read that rough outline of thoughts.

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And other times, I get the urge to draw…and I wish that I could draw well enough to convey what is without words.

In that, too, sometimes I wish that I could sit and draw all day.

So this is me making a placeholder, of sorts, about a specific hit-me-like-a-ton-of-bricks moment that hit me this morning — about when I was younger — like age 11 or so — and how I used to draw incessantly.

And the subject matter concerned one particular thing.

There’s a connection there, today.