I've had some health concerns since the beginning of the year and it took over three weeks to get an appointment with my doctor. (I am fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.) Towards the end of the three weeks, I had pretty much worked myself into a tizzy with the various outcomes that may have stemmed from this doctor's visit. One of my friends suggested I do the age old process of writing about it. Her idea was a good one.

I tried. I sat down numerous times before the computer and ended up checking email and lurking around Ravelry. I picked up a gorgeous notebook thinking I could pen a story and ended up doing Zentangles instead. No matter what I tried, I couldn't write about my feelings.

Emotion is interconnected with creativity, don't you think? Being sad, worried, or macabre melancholia doesn't do much for my sparks. Being joyous, happy or light of heart doesn't do much more for my sparks. I need a middle road--one not too bumpy in either direction. This dual nature of emotion and creativity may be indeed, why writers have often turned to drugs or to alcohol. Both substances have an equalizing effect that I suspect is necessary to pull words from the undulations of gray matter.

I don't do drugs or alcohol, so I used my time to create a spun and knitted scarf of my own design. It has the tactile qualities of silk, leather and lace and while I created it, I realized that my writing contains these 'feelings'. My stories have a vintage feel to them--in my own mind, at least. The language may not be Victorian, but the images I see are awash in sepia and as stained as spilled tea. I can't access these feelings when I'm too much of this or that. Like Goldilocks, I must be just right.

Now that I know I'm going to be all right, I can now return to a project that came to a screaming halt about a week ago. I'm ready to finish it.