It’s been so long since I’ve written. So long that there’s a fear inside me.

Long work hours lead to long weeks and short weekends, if any at all. I’ve let things slack. I’ve let things slide. As I type this, I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.

I must say at this point, the mid-point of 2010, this year has so far been a pretty great one, if tough and busy. I do consider how grim things could have been after January’s madness.  Fortunately, I wasn’t unemployed for long. My unbelievable ex-boss re-opened a door I was afraid was long shut.  I went back to the job I love so much. However, I went from working 32 flexible hours a week to working a strict 84 and sometimes more. That itself has stifled the tiny bit of creativity and all the flow I did have.  It has brought pause to the words that used to rage beneath the roof, swelling and thrashing about, impatient to get out. Impervious to denial.  I’m now down to 60+ hours a week, which affords me a little extra time, but my thinking processes have already changed dramatically. I am absolutely in love with my job, but have done the one thing I swore I would never do: let my job become my life.

I am currently not composed of words. I am numbers. Solid, inarguable numbers. I am calculating rates of loss and corrosion. I am analyzing thousands of tiny numbers. Mere parts of numbers! All hovering in the thousandths. I’m reading letters that may as well be numbers. Cr, Mn, Fe, Ni, Zn, Mo are unimportant, unpronounceable jibberish until a number value is assigned to them. Elements, while amazing, are rarely spoken of in hushed, romantic tones or loud, creative ones. They are, quite simply, elementary.
My goal now is to find a way back to malleable, manipulable, beautiful, swirly words. To make some room in my brain for writing things for myself, my life, my city.

I can already tell it’s going to be difficult, but writing is what I was born to do. If it’s not hard, why even bother? The lazier parts inside me scream “just sit back and let it happen”, but I’ve been waiting for that. I’ve been sitting at my laptop with my fingers on the keys and nothing comes. My brain has betrayed me. In the midst of all these numbers, the true loss I should be calculating is the closing of the door to that writer side of my brain. It is slowly shutting away the part of me I actually like. I can’t even see a tiny, comforting sliver of closet light in there.

It’s time to get it back.

I need to get it back.

I need to re-open this door.