It started off simply enough, busy days led to tired nights. I should have blogged. I could have blogged. But I did not. Instead I did other things. I curled up with a book or watched reruns on TV. I did laundry or cleaned. Or I did nothing, the lying on your bed, stretching out, finding comfort kind of nothing.
As I lay there a sort of rebellious feeling welled in my chest. "This is where you belong" it whispered. "Stay here. Its cool here. So comfortable." I listened to the whispers. I tended to agree with them. So I stayed. I was comfortable. Then stealthily, almost conspiritorially, the cats would jump on the bed with me. They yawned and stretched, just as I had done, and laid down next to me. "Stay here. Pet me. Love me"
The signs were all telling me to stay. So I did.
And as they days flew by and the nights were spent in comfortable nothingness, it was easier not to blog. I didn't run to the computer in the morning and open up my browsers to the proper sites so I could sneak a few minutes here and there. I avoided the computer, stopping in only to check my e-mail.
The longer I stayed away from the computer, the less I thought like a writer. I didn't pick up my journal. I didn't jot down ideas on scrap pieces of paper. I didn't compose lengthy posts in my head. There was nothing in my head, in my heart that was trying to be heard. I did not have ideas fighting to get out. I was not looking for the right words. I my mind was silent, almost still. Almost.
At first I stayed away out of rebellion, out of laziness. I don't have to do this. Then I stayed away because of the silence. I can't do this. There is nothing to do, nothing to say.
The silence is still there, drowning out everything else. In a way it is peaceful. I don't have to worry. I could given in to the silence. I may still give in. I can listen to the silence to see what it has to teach me. There are always lessons to be learned.
I can just let it carry me along, to find out where it wants me to go. And it just might help me find my words, my story.