I like to travel, read, write, dance and pretend. At the moment I am suffering an insufferable phase of self-aggrandizement, premature maturity and lack of wit.
If you think you can help me out of this funk, write me at idaman.z@gmail.com
It has been too long since I wrote something that's intelligent, nuanced and beautiful. I am beginning to think I have lost that ability, assuming I had it in the first place. I used to sit and stare at the keyboard, the pretty phrases right there in my head, I could see them, but they refused to travel down to my fingers. These days there is nothing. I've lost the yearning to craft a gorgeous story. I thought, once upon a time, that this would scare the sanity out of me. I am still sane. I am disappointed in how adult my handling of this loss is. I should be pulling at my hair and screaming profanities, but all I am interested in doing is lighting up another cigarette as I sip at my coffee.
How do you end the vicious cycle of wanting more when you have more?
