[very brief thoughts from a tired ~burning woman~ by Sha’Tara]
It’s 8:45 (at the moment), or 20:45 if you will and I’m too tired to really write anything coherent, but my mind won’t stop churning. It’s like some crazed voice saying, “Write it, write it, write it!” and each inflection louder than the next.
“What?” Meaning, write what in particular? As usual, unless I’m taken over by the muse to write fiction (what’s fiction again?) I have a dozen ideas floating in my mind from all the impressions I get of a world in turmoil, gone made, over the deep end and of a group-think mindset that generally speaking, doesn’t have a clue and couldn’t care less.
Do I want to talk about that? No. There’s enough of that everywhere I turn and tune.
What then, my feelings about it all? Why should my feelings matter so much they need to be superimposed over those of someone else? They don’t, they really don’t. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this one life, and I’m old enough to know this, it’s that what I think and feel is just as important as what everybody else thinks and feels, and vice versa. I’m just as special as everyone else, and so are my feelings.
So, that’s me out of the way (like that’s even possible!) so what does the crazy voice want me to write about?
I know, of course I know: it wants me to write about Something Else. And I will, or I would, if only I had the language to express it but my languages only know Something Else as just that: something else. Not even capitalized, just something else, so much so, I am leaving this “uncategorized.”
At least I can close with this: I know how you feel now, Lisa Palmer.