I was going to use a writing prompt today, but I don’t think I will after all. Overall, today has been a great day: I got a lot done, had a great attitude, etc. Then, I received The Email from a vendor. I’ve resolved the issue, but this is a recurring problem, and I’m nearly at the end of my rope. So, I’m all stressed and edge feeling, like “on the edge”, not “cool and edgy”.
I’m all jittery and nervous feeling, so I write. I write to let it out, to release my thoughts, to smell the ink, feel the paper, listen to the world around me, but most of all, simply to write. I have no end goal, no plot, theme or thesis. I am free when I write, escaping into imagination, words, and the worlds they can take me to. Though depression haunts me and anxiety plagues me, writing releases me. It doesn’t judge, could care less if I have legible penmanship, and corrects my spelling with love. Writing and I have a rather torrid relationship sometimes, tumultuous others. Through it all, writing is always there for me.
-Written 7-23-2009, in a small writing notebook taken everywhere with me