I'm afraid I might be losing it... You know, the gift, the spark, the devine inspiration... My muse is gone, and God only knows where the little bugger is hiding! I am so deeply afraid when I stare at the blinking cursor, just staring back at me, mocking me in it's lack of movement (I have reached now, ladies and gentleman, a new level of neurosis: a computer cursor is actually making fun of me...)

I think I might not have it any more, or that I missplace it and now I cannot find it! I think it is this blog, I think it might be the key to getting it back... I want my bloody saprk back! And i guess that if I keep writing this things that pop up in my head... that maybe it will come back. Or maybe I will find it, and drag it back into this empty head of mine. I liked it when I was strange, I liked it when life was so weird I could barely breath from the exhilaration.

I'll be posting much more, then. Just for the sake of Augustine, who is drowning. I don't want society to get me at all, I want to be forever out of the system. Hell, I want to be a Historian and a writer and to do that I cannot be IN! I wished it so much when I was a little girl and now all I can think of is that I am praying to God so he will give me my wirdness back. It made me write, now I see it! The voices in my head were never harmful. And now they are quieting.

What if it is too late? What if I never get it back? What if I don't write anything else at all for the rest of my life? I am terrified. Mortified. Petrifies by the mere possibility, the chance that... that what was inside of me might be too dead to bring back. But I decided to put all this outside, were it belongs. It worked once, right? Whay wouldn't it work again? It has to. It has to...

This will be the dessperate rambling of a child who lost her little dog... The girl who lost her innocence... The woman who lost her child, and the elder who lost her youth. But I will get it back. It's only a matter of time... And a whole lot of writing.