why am i blogging again today? because i cannot seem to write anything concerning the project she inspired me to begin working on tonight. sitting here listening to dogs bark, pool balls be hit by sharp focused men, and the beastie boys, hoping the words will flow. but they aren’t. i don’t want to write about myself. is this is block? unsure, unsure. it feels good to be typing, but what doesn’t feel good is my impatience and lack luster attitude. i need to tap in. smell the amber on my wrists. hold my blue suede bag. write this, in hopes it will tap me in. maybe i just need to get used to writing quietly about life more. who knows. today has been weird. it started with a magical morning. and i can get so scattered, brain wise. i mean, like, i am looking at the oil bottles, to grab what the customer wants, and i need to think in terms of alphabetical order, and i can’t. where is P? suddenly, linear reality makes no sense. my dimes are in my quarter container and my words are just coming out. i can tell you it’s wrong to move to california, but i cannot, for the life of me, write the world vanilla correctly. it’s so hard sometimes, to be logical, to tell a story, to be of this realm, i guess. i know cats, they only look like they are sleeping, but really they are traveling. and when dogs are sniffing butts, they are reading the entire universe in the other dog’s glands. i feel like sometimes, i am doing something along these lines. i am reading universes and traveling worlds, even if it looks like i am only bagging up your incense…and it’s so hard to spell words and put dimes in their proper place and say things in linear fashion. i do it. but it’s a struggle. i am all over the place, which might be why i have always worn black…to ground me, but now i wear colors, and i am pogo jumping. i have to laugh. it’s so easy to write blogs, cause i let myself be free when i write. but to write a short story, or an essay, i feel this commitment to make sense and then it stresses me out. i think that’s the block. i don’t need to make sense. these blogs are my freedom cause i get the pleasure of sharing my writing, without caring if it’s good or not. not too much anyhow. it’s like how i am leaving cards all around the hill, with little messages written on the inside. i am doing it to give, and make magic for a human heart, even if i also hope to bring people to my creative spewing, i don’t expect it. my compulsion is to give. it’s so easy when i don’t think about what to take. i need to get into this focus to start the project she suggested, cause i love the idea. and of course it came out in the new cafe where all beauty happens. over a latte that had some robed figure in it, an alien or angel or something. she knew i was seeing something. i love how she knows. i love typing on the chrome book. it’s really satisfying. the keys are soft like silk. how do i write about myself? i do it in blogs, but they are cryptic and poetic and i could care less about what anyone thinks. is the problem in the caring? does caring too much get me in trouble? perhaps. i wonder….i mean, i do feel my ultra sensitivity, although a gift, also has it’s quintessential curse. it’s so hard sometimes, to be brave and open. i want to be brave and open. i might need a little help. a little green and red. a warm inviting hand. like the little runt puppy in the litter who wants love but is unsure how to ask for it, or show that she wants it, i feel like i hide and retreat and get blocked out of some temperament i have been born with, that is not really aligned with my true calling. how can i embrace more nine of pentacles stuff? be more confident? cause i am on the inside. confident. i mean, i love myself and i feel i have a lot to share and inspire others with….at the same time, i feel timid and unsure, like that little puppy in the corner, who wont go for what she wants. it’s silly really. come on me. i am not a puppy. i am a human. enough with the metaphors already.