I wake on a regular day, a Tuesday perhaps, and press my bare feet to the floor and suddenly I just want to scream LOOK AT ME, I'M HERE! and then the heads swivel and the eyes settle on me and I want to curl up in a ball and whisper: never mind.
Because it's just Tuesday, you see. Another day in a string of days that look alike but somehow are not the same, like cousins. But I don't want it to be another Tuesday. I want to soar and sing and CHANGE THE WORLD. But first? I have to make breakfast and pack lunches and do dishes and fold laundry and soon the feeling is gone and it's just another day.
Then the itch comes again, like a balloon inflating deep inside, I scrabble and search and tweet and blog and write and wonder: can anybody see me? Hello? Can anyone save me from Tuesday?
My muse flits just outside of my peripheral vision. I'm over here, she taunts, and I turn my head and poof! she's gone, because I'm busy with the daily-ness of life.
What came first, I wonder. The blog or the words? Would I have this urge to be seen, to be heard, if I didn't have this little place to come park my thoughts?
Why, I wonder. Why can't I go about my days without the inflating balloon, without the taunting muse, without the pseudo-spotlight of my words being heard.
Because if you go quiet, my muse answers, then it will just be Tuesday.
Would the outlines of my day-to-day life grow clearer, more present, without the tug of this space? Or would they fade into a blur of ordinariness, the poignancy of moments left dusty and forgotten without the words to give them life?
Would a moment just be a moment? Would I scramble for my camera, capture scribbled notes on scraps of paper to remember for later if I wasn't crafting the words in my head? What would Tuesday look like without the pseudo-spotlight?
So I wake up and press my bare feet to the floor and I let the moments come. I try to let them be, but the muse is always there, taunting me. I try to resist her siren call, but the scraps of paper with scribbled words pile up and the camera snap snaps the pictures and I think: look at me. I'm here.