I’m in my office rapping away on my keyboard at a feverish tempo. Lost in my world, lost in my words. Those etchings of black crossing the screen, creating something from nothing, containing meaning because we say so. I get so deep in them. So deep in myself. Giving dire meaning to something that doesn’t really matter at all … not to time or the universe. But goddess, it’s so important to me. And when an interruption trips me it’s like my very own creatively spinning planet experienced a violent collision with another astral body bringing it to a sharp stop. It’s jarring! Concepts fly off it’s surface, inspiration jettisons into space. Like when a dog shakes water from it’s coat. I’ll never catch all of those drops. They’re gone. The moment is never the same. I wonder how many civilizations that could have been were lost due to interruption of their creation process. My response is more sadness than anger, but my kids would never vouch for me on that one. It is though! The five stages of grief…
- Denial - Really? Right now?!
- Anger - …the fire breathing…
- Bargaining - Can you give me 10 more minutes? 5?
- Depression - Nevermind. It’s all ruined.
- Acceptance - I’ll be right there….as I say goodbye to the unique creations lost from that moment.
But most often I quit, and leave the carnage and go back to being whatever is needed, shifter that I am, doing my real job. Even I can’t predict what I’ll be moment to moment. I try to go along with it and make it the best I can. Except on Saturdays… and that’s the closest I’ll ever come to being a mermaid.