I have three posts in the works. All three are different kinds. My mind begins grasping then formulating their ideas, and as soon as I begin to write, I am left with a dead space. In my head and on the page.
My thoughts stream out in boring strings of words and meaningless turns of phases. It feels like every ounce of creativity has been siphoned out my lips leaving nothing in it's wake. A force stronger than I preventing me. Hollow is how it feels. A blankness.
I'm thinking about taking up knitting. My grandmother, long gone, taught me to crochet when I was a young girl, eighth grade, I think. And I could make a mean afghan and some seriously cool scarves back in the day.
I remember finding peace there, in the process. I remember it soothing my increasingly hormonal soul. I remember feeling rooted ,connected, to her, too.
I want to rediscover that inner peace. I long for a soothed soul. I need to feel grounded and connected to my creativity.
Yes, I will take up knitting.