The last week or so, I’m feeling so uninspired. I can’t be sure if it’s the weather, which is utterly brutal cold in my country at this time of year. We are the chosen frozen. Maybe it’s that the eight-hour a day, five days a week is wearing me down. To be fair, I am the Master of my own disaster. I didn’t have to be going this alone, I guess perhaps in the back of my mind, I didn’t really expect to be alone. Not for this length of time.
There are perks. No one to cook for, clean up after or work my plans – such as they are – around. I miss the sound of another voice, “in” jokes and a body to keep me warm at night. There’s that issue with the cold again. Cold temperatures and artist ennui seem to go hand-in-hand for me.
My writing suffers, my art does too and it occurred to me this morning that for creative people their chosen medium, is like our own little personal fire. Burning bright, steady and warm when fed.
It would seem that I am in need of fuel. Tinder. Anything to fan the coals of heart, soul, imagination.
I find myself calling, searching with words that I know will go unread, not felt. Yet, the compulsion to keep seeking that flame, feels like the only thing I am capable of doing at the moment.
So I wait
I tend the coals, I nurture this hunger
I’m waiting for you
Don’t leave me here in the cold much longer…
23 January 2014