Today the skies were cloudless blue. The air still and cool. The sun's warmth better than any sweater. The first taste of Fall.
I was supposed to be working.
I was supposed to be writing.
I delayed. Dilly-dallied. Hemmed and hawed my way through the afternoon.
I watered my flowers. Rinsed the remaining cherry tomatoes with the hose and ate them like candy.
I came inside. Sat down at the computer. Told myself. Tunes.
I need tunes.
I put on ABBA. The Dancing Queen.
I dance my queenly self senseless.
I need air.
Back outside, a solemn, stoic squirrel digging laboriously in the yard, burying walnuts in preparation for winter, fixes me with a withering stare.
Ashamed and rebuked, I return to the keyboard.
Like chewing gum under a movie seat.
Here alone. Just me. I am not inspired. I am not inspirational. I am stiff and awkward and struggling and lost in the moment. The words feel forced and contrived and out of whack and I can't seem to get back to the place where this is so easy and free and natural. I need outside help. Reinforcements. I need a wall to bounce off of. I need someone paying attention. I am a word performer with a bad case of stage fright.
I love to hear my voice when it pings. Like a fish finder. I am the sonar that must have a movable object to locate or I flail about pinging into the depths. My words must land somewhere. I can feel it, right here, right now. I am winding down. Fading fast. Is there anybody out there listening? Because this silence is deafening.
Send me an email. IM a smiley face. Text. Call. Wave. Say hi.
Phonetic frenzy. I need some. An itch I can scratch.
Or...maybe...I just need...ummm...to stretch my legs...take a stroll around the yard...curl up in my adirondack chair and take in a mental image of today...blue sky...warm sun on my face...cool breeze...an image to tickle me when skies are gray and I am shoveling the driveway...
...the squirrel is back. That walnut stained sneering smug sanctimonius...
Hop. Hop. Hop. Plop. On my arm. A katydid. Luscious lime little creature. Pop-eyed, antennae waving, summer green, winged tap dancer. YMCA. Flapping. Dancing to ABBA.
I made that up.
Funny how procrastination can suddenly lead to inspiration. I know the parable of the squirrel and the gathering of the seeds. I rise and stomp across the yard and glare at Mr. Righteously Responsible Rodent . I know the moral of the story, okay?!
Do. The. Work.
It just so happens I prefer Katy's storytelling. AND the moral of her tale is more easily received.
Do. The. Work.
Love. What. You. Do.
And never ever forget to dance.
Ode To A Katydid
Katy and I.