Down the Rabbit Hole

Hey Pretty

It was disappointing to wake to dull skies and dampness this morning. It seems that my entire being is poised for sun and Spring promise. I passed a group of green leaves just breaking through the top soil this morning and it almost made up for the weather. Still, I'm feeling oddly "settled" lately, which I don' think I exactly like. I think I operate best when I am slightly unstable - I know I certainly write better that way. My life was so chaotic for so many years, a virtual stream of stress and heartache puncuated by moments of hope and happiness, that this time of ease and contentment seems strangely out of place. I'm trying not to give in to the feeling that its only temporary. In reading through my port, selecting pieces to edit, or more importantly, polish for submissions, I'm realizing how far I've come, how different my emotional climate was at those times in my life when my writing seemed most prolific. Once again I am haunted by the question of whether or not misery is my muse - and if that is true, does my new found happiness and hope limit my ability to write?