I have been terribly tardy in blogging these days and want to offer an apology to those who happen by. I’m sure I am not the only blogger on the planet to miss days or even weeks of posting, but I feel somewhat shabby about beginning with such enthusiasm and then, well, nothing. So here are a few placations that I hope will soothe you savage yet literate beasts!
“Get on with it, then!” says the voice, yes, the one referred to in the title. It is insidious, the voice, and I have yet to identify it with precision. So “that voice” is the subject of this post; perhaps an attempt at taking the thing down a notch. Because, my friends, it is responsible for my silence, not I! “Hee hee,” said she… If I had my druthers, I would wax endlessly about this and that, comment expertly on the latest agenda facing the Senate, and present my philosophical proofs with wit and elegance. Ah, yes, those would be the days.
As it is, I live in this middle-aged head of mine and listen to the endless banter between conflicting selves that have grown up within me. This is not news to anyone, no one that I know. We are all at battle with our pasts. Mine has combined into one personality all its own. “Grow Up!” it commands, “That’s all over, why, those people are long dead, for God’s sake!” Yes, I know this, I know it all too well, yet “that voice” is the only one I can unavoidably hear. Particularly when I want to sit down and write. When I neglect my blogging responsibilities, ‘she’ is to blame, you see, and all those voices do combine into a ‘she’ without a doubt. Yep, she’s one hell of a bitch. Now obviously I am being facetious, yet ‘that voice’ does seem a separate entity at times, yes?
She is not kind. She has no patience. She is a modern-day battleaxe. And her only project is little old me. She is insufferable enough to wake me in the night to remind me of my interpersonal missteps of the day before, making sure that I am sufficiently aroused so I can’t go back to sleep for hours. Her personal joy is in jabbing me in the side just as I have relaxed into writing confidence. And of course, she makes absolutely sure I get a bruise. I always do.
Okay, okay, I am not going to blame it all on that woman. Although I should. But how do I fight back? What is this schizoid word processing that goes on in my brain? Well, I suppose it comes down to a simple choice. I either sit comatose in front of the waiting page, or I can have the courage to meet it with the written word. “Just do it” as the advertisers entice-well, okay, I’ll do it, if you’ll only tell me how! Still waiting…
Topics and ideas come and go, and I am a jack of all, master of none-which I must finally reluctantly admit and embrace. So dear ones, if you are still with me by now, you may by now see that all this is a pep talk to myself that I have oh, so sorely needed. I thank you for sticking with me through the lean times, you’re the best.