I’ve recently become accustomed to hanging…on words. Two words in fact, seem to be dangled in my face by a number of sources. Even more so, these low hanging, ubiquitous carrots curve ever so slightly mirroring a Cheshire cat-like grin as they meet up with their mercilessly preferred partner in crime for the kill. ‘Not now…’
Not since I’m a young girl have I had to wait on things to take shape. Much less be reminded by life that, try as I might to be accountable, proactive and prepared, on my own accord, I should in fact sit aimlessly, again, like a young girl, patiently naïve.
The ‘beck-and-call’ syndrome that I run into on a daily basis does not derive solely from the small group of poppy cocks that hang about various levels of my inferno. But, more alarmingly, seems to be spearheaded by the severely draconian Life itself and his ethos of ethos: ‘Not now, but soon…’
So I find myself sitting on a teeter totter of sorts, every day, with an accompanying double edge sword creeping closer toward my dwindling spirit. I am interminably partial to my creativity, that weighs down the plank separating us from my long lost friend, Structure. High in the air, Structure looks down upon my careless, conniving counterpart, and my blank face, gone cold.
I’m convinced my icy receptions in times of late breed from this debacle of crowded space and contradicting consorts. Creativity warrants much attention, yet space. Structure is the hated foe, turned trusted friend. The unlikely pair striving for sole ownership on a tottering piece of sodden wood disintegrating from a steady flow of disappointed tears.
But even so, for the slight chance of seeing one project through; one chapter published, a half a paragraph read halfheartedly by a stranger I’ll never know… I’d choose Creativity every day of the week and twice on Sundays, betting my life’s worth happily on ‘…But Soon.’
Los Angeles, CA