almost



Losing yourself in a world of your own ingenuity is too easy to do for a girl like me, one who prefers the fantasies in her own head to the reality outside her own skin.

Sometimes the noise rages, too loud, too often, too chaotic and I cannot make the sounds legible, audible or orderly.

My teeth hurt from the straining to listen carefully. For listen I must. Never question the Muse. Never ignore her either, to do so would be perilous.

The noise intensifies. It's a constant babble that soon will become like a drone, a cicada staccato, the back ground noise to the world unfolding in my head.

Things are in motion, albeit slowly. But they move and the cogs turn and it all just flows so nicely.

Every thing is almost perfect.

2009-07-17 3:33 p.m.