This time of year always has a strange effect on me, hard to pin down and describe...
Was some time over the weekend, I sat back, not letting myself be distracted and spent five hours writing a short story. Left me as physically drained as a whole wild weekend of sex... but more so spiritually and emotionally exhausted.
If this is what it means to start coming into my own with my gift, my curse, I am not sure I want it to be so. I seem more and more to know why so many people with the Muse have either left this world or run a course that is self-destructive....
To hear people say "I wish I could write like that..." oh... err...The gift of being able to make others see, but the curse of having to go through life seeing things in a different light than those around you....
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