Off the Cuff / My Other Journal

When I write�

The night is my life. I work fast to get some writing in, but not so much as to hear the silence, instead to mask it.

Yet, my whole body listens to that silence, although I fear to hear it. With my ears perked and my head tilted, my pen, or maybe the keyboard, flows with the rhythm of my inside's depths. This is the surrendering of two worlds into each other. One is silence; the other, the mind.

At the start, I am hopeful, never anticipating the ways in which I can wear out, never considering the ravages of the day, the taxing of time on my body, or the struggle of trying to shake off the closing of eyelids. Worse yet, I do not take into account the slowing mental processes after living and thinking too much.

Still, I fight against the slow collapse as I murmur to myself, "One word after another…go on…go on…"

The cheering section inside me never tires. Encouraged by its endurance, I attempt to rise to the occasion. My body sits upright with determination. My fingers dance on the keys and I applaud myself. Oh, yes! I have written so many words tonight.

Then, I read what is on the page and I crumble. The only two paragraphs I have written need to be cut.