Just another random venting session

I sat here with my notebook out, ready to write, and I started doodling instead, which is never a good sign. I hate when that happens. It’s why I sometimes get right to it on the laptop, refusing, even, to kick it old school at all. Other times, like today, I wind up being glad that I stuck with the tree-killing paper I love so much, because it just starts flowing, this stream of words and thoughts you can’t stop. It’s a feeling akin to leaving work on autopilot to find yourself suddenly at home without realizing how you got there. 

I need to flow a little more, though. I feel like this book; the project that is so dear to my heart; has gotten a bit stagnant. I keep running into walls, and I wonder if I shouldn’t just walk up to arbitrary strangers to ask about it. It would add the reassurance of anonymity, but I don’t know how many girls would be honest and I seriously doubt that any men would talk about it. I guess trust is a big part of all this, too. It does bring up a good point, however, in that I should certainly conduct a poll within a cross-section of strangers, merely to determine how many lives have been touched/tainted/infiltrated by domestic abuse.

It is getting a little better, as I sit and mull. I no longer feel like some moron sitting around, waiting for words that will never come. Sometimes they do that; you know; just dance outside the window of my mind, teasing me with unfulfilled promises. I’m glad to report that this is not one of those nights.