Bath-water, Brain Lighting and Volcano Mouths

The thing about writing.

When you want to do it, the flow of words stop. It just disappears. All you can see, read, think and hear around you are mundane words like, 'get, throw, wash, bath, water, toothpaste, soap,' and the like.

Yes, I've just about woken up.

No, I don't want to do anything else.

Blah. It's always the same. For instance, when I'm having a bath and consciously concentrating on cleaning myself, along comes an idea oh so quietly and then rams into my head in this very unassuming way. Ping! Something in my brain lights up and a rush of swirly emotions accompanies this lighting of the brain. And then, bath-water, tiles et al disappear to leave me falling through space and heading directly toward the mouth of a volcano.

I'm so engrossed in this that I want to rush out naked like Archimedes and just plain yell at the top of my voice. The similarity of the situation is striking.

And then, poof. The idea's gone away. I take it very bravely, thinking it'll come back again. I try to move on, feeling cut to the very core of my being. I come out of the bath, put some clothes on and then slowly tramp outside the bathroom. I pile my plate with breakfast (at one in the afternoon, thanks to my atrocious eating habits) and trudge to the living room, disheartened with myself and the world. The picture of a volcano catches my eye from across a newspaper sprawling across the sofa.

I'm falling into its mouth again, only this time, with glee. =)