I don’t wanna write today.
I’m feeling the need to clean, to purge.
I feel compelled to use the “listen to your body” excuse to not write.
I’m feeling too giddy and happy to sit still.
I’m feeling mesmerized by the sounds of birds chirping.
So many birds.
Bananakeets, and what else?
What are the birds found on this tropical island?
They make beautiful songs. High pitched.
Squawks. Melodic. Whistling. Abrupt screeches and crows.
I hear them in all directions.
I don’t wanna write.
I wanna research tropical birds.
I wanna know their names and who is keeping me up at night, singing me to sleep and lulling me out of work mode.
I wanna clean out the storage shed, take a load to the dump, give piles away to Goodwill.
I want to write out my to-do list. (Though, I don’t really want to do anything on my to-do list.)
I want to reorganize my digital filing system.
Sauté onions in turmeric and kitchari spices.
I want to rub an aloe mask on my face,
and vacuum up bird feathers leftover from the cats’ kill last night.
I want to walk into my husband’s office and plant a wet one on his soft warm cheeks.
I want to do anything.
Anything, but write.
And so….I write.
Because wanting to do a anything but create, is the first door we creators must walk through in order to create.
The lure is the siren of resistance.
I’ve heard its call a hundred times before.
And so…I turn for a moment.
Set my timer to 15 minutes.
And write, by golly.
Fifteen minutes is the entry point, the narrow, rocky passage way between the sirens.
If I make it past 15 minutes, there is a wide open ocean to explore full of