Process Comment

When its particularly intense times, good or bad, I don't have any urge to write about it. What I want, at those times, is to be present. Fully. Completely. All there, and nowhere else. That is the satisfaction. Expressing myself in any other way other than living it well doesn't appeal. It is different than being too busy, too tired, too overwhelmed, too anything to write, or take a picture, or whatever. Reflection is incompatible with being there for me. While D. was sick these past 7 weeks, and when he died, and the days after, I did not want to say anything about it in this way. I just wanted to be there. And I was.

I don't know how to evaluate that. I suppose in my own opinion it cements me as a hobbyist and not a Writer, or Artist, or Poet. People I know whom I would term those things I think would not be able to live the experience fully without also and more simultaneously expressing it in their chosen forms.

I usually err on the side of saying every goddamn thing. But not at those times, good times or bad times. There I like the quiet of living, only.

Bad poet. Bad bad poet.