I was tired, so I decided to go to bed. I decided that maybe things don't have to be this way and I can just 'decide'. I went to bed and I ended up just lying there for quite some time. I finally drifted into a very light sleep only to wake up after what was probably only about fifteen or twenty minutes. Then I languished in the bed some more without falling back into sleep. Of course, it didn't help that I got up to pee so many times. I just kept thinking, "Any minute now. I'm about to fall asleep. It'll be great. I'd better go make sure my bladder is totally empty. I don't want to wake up even to pee. I just want to sleep and sleep." Right.

My mind keeps returning to the abandoned story in the sidebar. It is trying so hard to get out, and it has been for quite a while now. No matter my intentions, I don't seem to be able to make it happen even as I see it taking shape on the stage that lives in my mind. I know what happens when I engage with my art. And yes, I can see the warning signs in the freak show on the stage. This one is no different. I haven't written in that story (or any other) since early January. It makes me sad to know it now, but I know why I was able to begin that work when I did. I began it soon after the therapist-inflicted wounds of the teenage girl felt fully aired with him for the first time and when I was speaking with him twice a week for a little while instead of just once. It felt safe to write then. Even if he doesn't dump me for being an asshole, I can't tell him this and I can't ask for anything 'extra'. I have a really hard time risking certain things. I have to find some other way to feel safe enough to write. Or else just freakin' forget about it and try to stay busy.