The struggle is real – panic sets in on Tuesday, getting back into the writing flow…I’ve got a feeling things ain’t going right
Mike offered an idea for some kind of structure – “LA to the avocado in chunks – almost like poetry.” I envisioned chunks of avocado when he said this, even though, I think, he was referring to possibly alternating or interwoven sections.
Now this story is becoming a problem, consuming me, keeping me up at night, the memories, a time that haunts me and now I’m going back into it, opening the metaphorical box, and all the thoughts locked away for so long are coming back to life.
In our dreams we see, hear, the trippy, weirdest stuff, and it doesn’t take a psychologist to understand how so much of it is connected to what we think and experience at that time. But much of it remains cryptic, and just as haunting as the lucid memories I’m wrestling with. I pay attention to them, write them down, in the desperate hope they will, must, have something to do with the story I’m searching for, the clarity I’m seeking, know they must somehow be connected because they come out of my own struggle to cope with that maddening uncertainty of finding this story that’s on my mind day and night.