Rust

I have this vibrating, almost painful mess of creativity storming around inside of me, and yet my eyes keep closing and I have to file the ideas away until I'm not too weary or too busy or too unsure to go do.

I'm home, now. Home home, "away from the rat race," as dad calls it. I see New York on TV shows and I see it as my new home, bent through the filter of editing so that strangers get a tiny slice of the funky pie. They don't see my quiet street, or the hollow sidewalks, or hot nights and empty beds. New York is a strange beast, and it's odd to see it through a stranger's eyes.

Home is nice. Home is my cats. Home is real food, and space to spread out. Home is a secret pocket tucked far away from where my world can batter it into numbness with horns and lights and sore heels.

I haven't told too many people I'm home. I like my time here to belong to me. I will see who I want to see. I have things to do and this is my recovery time. A recharge. A sweetness.

Summer, without projects, makes me languid. The heat pushes me downward until I flatten myself against the crevices in the floor of my life to try and escape the sunburn and the humidity and the stink of sweat. Distractions help me fight the season that seeks to atrophy me. And I only say this now because I have too much time until my next project begins. I need something now. I need to be doing to be living.

I can only finish writing under pressure of a deadline. I should start self-imposing deadlines and see what comes out.

Et cetera. Exeterra. I'm itching to just run and run and run and go and leap and fly and fall completely out of control, just to exist in my full capacity. But my body says no, you need to recharge your battery or you will burn out, and then what good are you to anyone?

I've been free of this internship for a matter of days and already I feel myself beginning to rust over. I hated it, wanted to escape, and now look at me, antsy as hell and clawing through pages of books and pounds of food and galaxies of ideas, just to feel alive.

I don't handle boredom well.