The Gloom Fades

Today I begin a workshop for gently unblocking creative writers. I've been a lot better lately about writing, probably more consistent than I've ever been outside of poetry class, and a heck of a lot less forced. But I still consistently block myself, and I'm writing new things rather than finishing the old, which I desperately want to do. So today I shall take a bus downtown (at eight in the morning, no less) and hopefully transfer to a second bus so that I won't have to walk the half an hour (read as 3/4 of a mile) and anger my knees again. I went and found the building yesterday all on my own. It took two hours round trip because I got lost and couldn't find it (mainly because I was looking for the wrong number), and I got hit on by a rather attractive Mexican. Not even I can misconstrue a steady series of increasingly personal questions leading up to "Can I have your phone number, and Are you married?". He followed me down the block a ways. I'm still not sure whether I'm more flattered by the attention, or want Raymond there to protect me. Is this what happens when a young woman goes walking alone? I don't know, I've never really done it before. It's a giddy feeling, like riding a roller coaster. Scary even though you're quite safe. Probably good that I'm a little frightened, as it will keep me out of trouble.

In any case, in honor of my writing class today, I shall start the day with some free verse.

The Gloom Fades

The gloom fades, the fog lifts
I can see my fingers and toes
Through the haze of my mental storm

The clouds lift, the night fades
Heart pain has been replaced
By the physical pangs of knee and neck

Take some Aleve, rub in some balm
I laugh at these physical ills
They have easements that the heart knows not.

Beg to differ, some say there are
Such easy ungents for the soul
To soothe the insubstantial tide of emotion.

Alcohol (degenerative mask), drugs (deadly dangerous)
Religion (of which I have over-imbibed)
But I think I shall try the cure of friendship

The gloom fades, the fog lifts,
The cure may be temporary,
But the balm of friends is no longer anathma.