I Used to Be a Writer....

Then I became an English teacher, and all drive to write and wax eloquent flew out the window in the desperate struggle to just stay afloat. Words, words, words....SO many of them throughout my day, and most of them by better writers than I'll ever be... {Exhibit A: Walt Whitman, above...} Though, I need to clarify that-- I'm talking about the incredible work I teach, NOT the less-than-incredible writing skills of most kids these days. (Though there HAVE been a few exceptions.)
So now, I'm no longer a writer. Just an appreciator of writers. like my kid sis Sarah, who daily improves and amazes me with her depth and scope and view of life.

{Exhibit B: excerpt from Sarah's blog...:
"I want the warm nights with symphonies of the earth. I want camping and fireworks and lazy, do nothing days. Movies with friends, leisurely breakfasts, waking up and realizing that you have no obligation to be a human being and the cosmos wont be thrown out of alignment if you morph into sloth and spend the day hanging from a tree sleeping. I want good books that I can finish in a week rather than a semester because I have time to read..."}

Now, I am a sometimes artist... dribbling out a few good photos, (plenty of mediocre ones), making a few good collages and pieces of memory art (though I haven't really dug into that art form in WEEKS...)... and mostly just trying to make my day to day life feel okay.

I love the warm weather, but with it has come a draining of inspiration.... I know who I used to be. I even kinda still know who I am, for the moment. But for the life of me, at this very second, I am really really having a hard time grasping who I WILL be next, and what she'll be like. I WANT her to be so many things, but it begins to feel like most of that is not really going to be so....

I am not sure what the future holds, and while that has been an exciting thing for me in the past, full of dreams and ideas, right now, it just feels empty. Bland. Unfulfilling. I don't know what will end up filling that blandness, and how it can possibly get as good in the future as it has been so many times in the past.

I know, I know.... this too SHALL pass.... And inspiration will come once again.

I just miss being a writer, for some reason.
And a dreamer.

So since I don't have any of my own greatness to share, here's a little Walt:

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am; 
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary; 
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, 
Looking with side-curved head, curious what will come next;
Both in and out of the game, and watching and wondering at it.

that last part reminds me of my thoughts today... 
  
You don't have to understand him fully to love him. At least, it's never stopped me.
Okay. I'm out. Bye.