Not Uncommon

I wouldn’t say it’s often, but it’s not uncommon – a half-leftover window to my energy, an under-used commodity, it’s too late now and I can only use it quite sparingly. When the head throbs and I’m angry with my job or someone’s notions of a vengeful God or something that similarly makes me want to sob, I feel different. It’s good to have the blood boil, from time to time, to feel like I am back, embroiled in a fight for life and pride and something meaningful, with people on my side.

But there’s no meaning here, there’s barely even fear of slipping into mediocrity – I don’t recognise this lounge lizard as even being me. Where is the intensity?

It’s just a rage that comes up sometimes, over the lip of a coffee cup or in frustration with dysfunctional rhymes. It’s nice to feel it here again, but it’s not linked to any genuine pain. How can I suffer for my art when my art is now just part of an increasingly foreign-sounding past?

I wouldn’t say it’s often, but it’s not uncommon that I am so grateful for the bad days, because it’s how I know I’m still alive.

 

Advertisements

About dcduell

Failed musician. Trying to write for TV. Never sure quite where I'm headed. Serial un-funnyman. I used to do a lot of writing. Sometimes I still do. So I decided to put it on the internet. I'm on Facebook and Twitter. Pretty active on the former, not so much on the latter. Holler at me.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s