Sometimes, when I sit down to write a paper for school, it’s as if I can see the entire cosmos on the inside of my head.
I only get snatches of clarity, and then it slips away – and then I have to work for it properly.
Writing down your thoughts is tricky business. You never know quite what you want to say till it’s already said.
The kettle on the stove sings an increasingly persistent song, and I can’t hear it – I have sunk too deep into a state of concentration, and my fingers keep on tapping away at the keys. The dog flops down and my feet. The wind howls over the roof and down across the valley. I am so grateful for these sturdy walls.
When I come back into the real world, out of the reverie, my limbs are numb from sitting still too long. I take a shower, bring a hot pack with me up to bed in the attic and cuddle up under the comforter with the cat for company.
I set about the chore of carefully disentangling myself from the constant cacophony of less than welcome thoughts, put them in a box under the bed and let them rattle away until the morning, as they do. They will sure as hell be there for me at any time.
Rest up well for another tomorrow.