MY WONDERFUL VICE.
The constant transition from writer to sculptor is metamorphic every time. And though I say constant, there are periods of months and eventually years between each change. I have two passions, which I must vent and I cannot give 100% to both. What the hell does one do, if they want to give their best? Sacrifice, albeit temporarily, one passion, which is like saying goodbye to a friend.
So what changes? I still suffer with insomnia and the constant battering of my head space with intrusive thoughts that are screaming out to be heard, acted upon and released into the world of creative reality. I am still borrowing pens and scraps of paper from complete strangers as I go about my daily routine without a pen- I just can’t get into the habit of being prepared for it when it comes.
Although I am at the mercy of my thoughts and ideas for eighteen hours a day, for the last two years I have conceded to risk losing the ones that come at me while I lie in bed trying to sleep, when I never have the pen I plan to put on my bedside table every night.
I used to drag myself up and go down to the kitchen, where I would scribble down that thought I absolutely could not forget, praying to put pen to paper before that fantastic sentence would flit out of mind and be lost forever. However, I had to knock that on the head because sleep deprivation was ruining any chance of me creating anything the next day- the vicious cycle. I would compare it to being a junkie, I have been a junkie, but the drug of creativity is not a need, it is a part of who you are and cannot be given up.
So some would call it a curse and in some ways it is, but unlike drugs, where quitting will save your life, if you quit what is essentially the essence of who you are, you will be no more.
Thank you Life for my blessed curse X