I couldn’t find my voice. It felt like it had been sucked inside, coagulated like jam in a jar. I wanted to speak, but couldn’t. It wasn’t like the time I experienced a complete loss of my voice after watching The Killing Fields. It wasn’t shock. It was just stuck. I felt like I was waiting to find the right tool to pry off the top. To hear the Pop! and find my voice flowing freely again.
But maybe that wasn’t how it was going to be. Maybe I was going to have to scoop it out, spoonful by spoonful. It was actually sweetness, not horrific. So it was confusing because underlying the problem I knew I was going to find resistance, as well.
It wasn’t like I expected to be able to spread the jam onto nice, warm toast. But it felt more like I was just going to be throwing it into the toilet.
NOTE: I came to an incredible realization the morning after I wrote this.
It shows some of the kinds of things that help keep me motivated to write. Please see the next post, which I will hopefully have posted in the next day or so.
It’s Saturday the 6th, I am heading out to work in a few minutes, and I still don’t have it posted. Silly me. I don’t know why I thought I could tell people when it would be done. Another piece fell into place Friday night, so I will get it done as soon as I can!