Sometimes I feel like I have inspiration pouring out of my ears. Like I have more than I know what to do with, and it all pours out in a jumbled mess. Other times? Not so much lol.
Sometimes I feel like I have all these little tiny whispers of inspiration floating around in my head. Just enough to make it noisy, but not quite enough to form coherent thoughts and get them out. And they stay there taking up space.
So you get sleep deprived, sugared-up, over-caffeinated (like that ones new lol), ramblings by a sub who now drinks her coffee out of a cup with a crown on it that says, "off with their heads!" And no, I haven't let it go to my head. Yet.
I try not to sensor myself for my readers. For me, doing so is kind of anti the point of blogging in the first place. There is one exception though, and one kind of post in particular that I shy away from--worries about Alpha. Because he reads every word I write.
I have been pushing away lately, and after reading this post over at "Finding Sarah" I realized that a great deal of my distancing is coming from my own worries, and our imminent return to the specialists Alpha saw this spring.
Looking at it objectively, I wonder what on earth my problem is (feel free to leave me a nice long list if you have nothing better to do with your morning lol). I have to assert my independence, raise my hackles, and try to growl him away. All because I'm worried about him. How back-asswards is that?
Under the harsh light of introspection (it's totally overrated), I know that were our positions reversed, I would be devastated. So I try to rein it in. I bury my worries until I can no longer figure out what my problem is. Until one day I'm wandering along and the truth smacks me upside the head.
Because I'm a shit when I worry. But I don't mean to be. Does that count for anything?