despair (mock, of course)

oh my god, she thinks, as she walks to her work--i am no longer A Writer. really, she does not mean to harp on the subject, but it may very well be true, if even for just a few Very Bad Moments in life. a phase, maybe. but there is a large and real fear looming in those clouds up there: the fear of the phase turning into a lifestyle, a new way a being, a bad habit that you never will quit.

 

and what are you without writing, without using This Something that was given to you like a gift? just another average girl with average looks that no ever sees or hears as someone with Something to Say. another jerk wearing Old Navy clothes, walking down the street. an entity of little or no definition.

 

it is your voice and no one else's.

 

she admits there are semi-regular Projects, Occasions, where she takes the time to write: for instance, here in Ivy Land. and then there is the script over which she and mendacious toil. so it is not really the lack of projects, then, or the fact that she is not one of those writers who Must Write Every Day or Die (what is that all about, anyway?). though she wishes she had some of that in her, just a little bit. she wishes she would feel that burning urge to write her own stories for instance, just a little bit.

 

it is not the lack of time to write. it might be the lack of energy. the plethora of excuses. or some ugly combo of all three.

 

but penelope is thinking with Deep Dismay this morning that it may just a problem of larger proportions. a very heart-sinking problem. the Lack of Inspiration. is she, as she most feared in all those doom-like days leading to the Final Graduation, now boring?

 

even when out being social, what is there to say, much less write about? talk about the job? eh. talk about the wedding plans? eh. there's just not enough drama in either world to make a good story.

 

or worse: the real horror and horror! what penelope fears most and the cause of this blog: has she lost her eye?

 

because life is good, as previously established--there are always problems, a little drama here and there. enough to make life interesting but not unbearable. 

 

what is always important, what will always be important, is The Eye.

 

my eye, my eye! i have to find my eye!

should i look in the couch cushions?

 

i think i may just need a big shake-up of my world.

sandier pastures, baby, i am telling you.