Sometimes I actually slow down and look at things. Not often, but sometimes. Lately when I’ve done that I don’t like what I see. Since A’s death I’ve been in this mode of going nonstop, yet hiding in a way. Like I’ve said–I haven’t really gone out like I used to. Well, I mean, I haven’t gone out at all like I used to. But I stay busy doing something. Doing what? Writing, for one. For most, actually. I’ve got a lot going on and coming out this year, which is great yet also just not working. So what I see when I slow down and look around is that I’m doing a great job of leaving these little pieces of myself in all of these projects and things that aren’t me. They’re fine, and a means in some way, but they’re not my heartsong.
I feel corny saying that. A was the sentimental, soulful one. I was always the artist being stricken and looking great all the while. I guess more rubbed off from him than I thought, or I’ve gone New Age in my… old age and widowed state. And this isn’t depression. Don’t get me wrong–been there done that, again, and again. This isn’t just reacting to grief and moving into the second year alone. I really am seeing that my heart just isn’t in the things it once was. Maybe it never really was and I was just too much of a maniac to notice. Or maybe I’ve always followed my heaertsong and didn’t realize that’s what I was doing, now that my melody has shifted.
I’m still writing, don’t despair. But I have to do it a different way. I have to feel it now, the whole process, not just the muse.