Inspired

always too long since the last post. the thing about blah blah blah is blah blah blah. it's all the same thing. i've got to get back to being connected to writing. i've got to get reconnected. and i've got to realize that the connection is never lost. this is not like a magnetic field that gets interrupted, this connection i have to my source is all powerful, all abundant, and so is my ability for keeping things invisible. like my good state of mind. it's always good but sometimes i think it's not because i hide it from myself. where does it go, my good state of mind? it goes in the closet, out the door, left behind with the shoes i wore last week on a run, or maybe in the grass where jackson peed while we were on our run. he looks so free when he takes off running without me. i let the leash down and tell him, go 'head good boy, and he runs and runs and runs as if he'll never come back and then he reaches that point, that same point every time, only sometimes it's 5 yards, sometimes it's 50 yards away, where he stops and turns around, looks over his shoulder to make sure i'm still running behind him, still trying to catch up with him, and then takes off for another sprint way. and all the while i see myself in him, longing to have that run to be free and let myself loose with each moment of each day. only i feel like i can't be that free, i can't be that loose because there are bills to pay and mouths to feed, bills to feed and mouths to pay. oh jewel, where are the days when you wrote a good song again? but songs won't reconnect me to writing. or maybe they will. maybe that's what i'm missing is to turn on some music and get myself inspired, like the blog told me to. i read a blog this morning that told me to read newspapers and magazines and blogs to get inspired, and to listen to music and the radio to get inspired. hogwash. inspiration comes from beauty and i don't feel beautiful right now. i feel horrid. and cold. and disengaged. and there is no inspiration from where i'm sitting, but i can't seem to choose to get up. the cold keeps me here, staring out a window that surely holds beauty on the other side of it, but I can't for the life of me figure out where. and so i sit here, waiting for inspiration to find me, inspire me, take hold of me and toss me around like a rag doll until i am shaken and stirred, like a dirty neat martini on a friday night.