So, I rarely write anymore. It's almost as if I've forgotten how. I am also not really sure what my feelings are on this loss of a favorite pastime. I am not really sure what my feelings are about most things as of late.
Writing was supposed to be my livelihood. In some ways, it does come into play in my job. I write manuals. I write emails. I compose a killer tweet or a Facebook update. So, okay, fine I write. But, I do not write for "fun".
I rarely exude passion about filling up a screen with well-crafted, handpicked, gorgeous, sensuous words, sentences and paragraphs. Small glimmers of excitement often leak out of me when someone persuades me into writing a short story or a couple of silly sentences...for amusement in an email. The words ooze slowly at first from my nimble fingers and then they pour on to the screen, quenching the longing thirst in my dehydrated brain.
I miss it. I miss the community of writing at times. I miss creating things that I find beautiful, silly or sad. I miss the whole process of choosing the right word and formulating flowing sentences.
I miss a lot of things. I miss myself writing. At times I just miss myself or the person I was when I was writing so much or when I was around fellow writers or "creatives".
Have I lost that spark out of myself completely? I am not really sure and there is no one to tell me otherwise.
In other news....I saw a Salvador Dali painting this weekend..up close. Art Viewing Win! I viewed it on accident, really. I didn't know of the special exhibit at RISD and I walked into it and much to my surprise, I got to see some gorgeous stuff and a few glorious installations.
So essentially I got to see Dali, Van Gogh, Warhol, Monet, Manet, Picasso, Cezanne, O'Keefe, Matisse, and the list goes on in this one tiny museum in my favorite city, in the smallest state.
See that passion still lies beneath.....I am not sure how to recover it.