I tend to travel into the noise of my own mind rather than venture out into the chaotic immensity of the world.  I am not the writer who changes lives or shatters barriers. I am not a voice for the blind or a fighter of injustice.  I am not the scholar or the teacher.  I am the writer who gets lost and likes it that way.  I am self-centered and wrapped up in feelings more than in the physical world.  My emotions live on my skin and guide my decisions, dictate my choices. But, this feels shallow, opaque, as if I look up at the crisis of the world from a hole in the ground that surrounds me in darkness.  I sometimes read my own work and think, it must seem as if I don’t care that the world is falling to pieces around me. I do care.  I just care quietly.  I am not sure if that counts.

When I write, the feeling comes first, then the words, and the meaning seems to materialize from the feelings and words.  Sometimes, I think there is no meaning behind what I write, that it is just the feeling of the language that drives me.  I often have no idea of the meaning of things I read, but I can tell you how they make me feel.  Perhaps it is a different way of thinking, or perhaps it is an absence of thinking.  Could it be that I am over thinking?  Unlikely, I think.

You will never find me at a protest march.  I don’t do live readings.  I rarely even talk on the phone.  What I do is watch and see, through my faulty eyes.  I look at the skewed bits of life in all of their beauty and let myself feel sad or enraged or joyful. I walk and ride busses through the city, with only the poor, old and ailing, as my compatriots.  I am wrapped up in the minutia of moments rather than the things that have global impact.

As I lie in bed at night, I think about what I will eat for breakfast and trying my hand at writing fiction, how it must be the ultimate escape. I wish that I wasn’t fat, old, ugly and blind.  I feel grateful for the fan that cools the room and my husband and my dogs sleeping soundly next to me.  I think about falling asleep and how wonderful it will be when everything melts into reverie.