Wrangling Mad Thoughts with a Very Ripe Banana
It’s been a while since I’ve posted, since I’ve written a complete sentence, really. It’s not that I don’t have thoughts. It’s more that they’ve multiplied so furiously, like fruit flies,* their frenzied copulating, flitting and buzzing rendering my one basic skill — transferring words to page — an elusive impossibility.
This morning, I put a very ripe banana on my writing desk, in the hopes of enticing the furious fliers to settle long enough for me to pen a few words. Long enough to say, at the very least, I’m still here.
If only I could remember how sentences work. I look over my attempts at writing from the past few days and find such gems as, “to say whatever is happening right now ____ would be a gross an understatement.” Like the elusive fruit flies, I can see what should fill in the blank, but I can’t swat fast enough to smack it down on the page.
I do know this: to say that putting my thoughts and feelings into words is a struggle right now would be a gross understatement. And yet, writing is my best therapy, and oh how much I do need therapy right now. So I’ll keep swatting until I land something. You’ll be the first to know.
*A single female fruit fly can lay up to 500 eggs in her lifetime, which sounds like a lot until you realize her lifespan lasts only a week. Then it sounds insane.
