I've updated a lot lately. I guess I'm trying to compensate for my habit of not writing.
I have been filled with a kind of terror that haunts any person who considers himself an artist. I know I could never be a real author because I don't keep writing just to write. I write when I'm overhwelmed with any kind of emotion - be it sorrow, exhileration, rage, or laughter. But as much happiness as I feel around Dwight... I've been neutralized into a state where I don't feel overhwelmed. I feel... at home. Anyway, so you get the point that I feel as I've lost my Muse for words.
Well, I wrote a poem about highways. I talked to Dwight about it and he seemed to understand what I was saying and I was happy ((because now I'm not a freak all by myself)). There is this irrational fear I get when I'm sitting in the backseat of a car driving down the highway. With a huge concrete wall to my left, I imagine how much pain it would be if I rolled down a window and stuck my hand out. Thank God that Dwight didn't find me odd. I could sound practically insane... but I tend to fixiate on situations like that. Because the thought drove me bonkers, I ended up writing about it. I haven't decided whether to burn it or keep it. So it's laying on my desk right now, patiently awaiting its fate.
It's snowing outside, but it's bright as day at 11:15 at night.
