It’s rare for me to be at such a loss for words. When something wonderful is happening the words often spill out of me, when something horrible is happening they come even easier, part of why I love the first two lines of Detroit Annie, Hitchhiking so much, because I identify with them: Her words pour out as if her throat were a broken / artery and her mind were cut-glass, carelessly handled.
I don’t write eloquently, but I write from my heart, I spill my mind and blood onto the page because I am unable to do anything else, because that is what I need to do in order to figure out what is going on in my brain, and because it’s necessary. However, there has been so much going on the last few weeks that I am having a difficult time starting. I’m at a loss for words.
I feel I should start at the beginning, but I think I will start anywhere and just let that broken artery spill freely onto my blog again, or maybe write up the posts in whatever order they arrive and then publish them in the correct order: Sex 2.0, meeting Marla, leaving Marla, what has happened since I’ve been home.
There is just so much to write and I’m not sure how to just do it. But I’ll do it, because I need to get it out of me.
