The writer who never writes

Today was a “Me Day”…
Okay, so every day is a “Me Day” but that’s beside the point. I wandered around my house for a while; trying to think up a productive use for the day and out of no-where a sudden desire hit me;
A bubble bath!

Why not? I had time to kill and as most women and many men will admit, bubble baths are a pleasure, which require time to be appreciated. I thought of taking some wine or beer to the tub with me but looking at the time ( about Mid-day) I realized it may be a tad early to start drinking; wouldn’t want my friends calling AA on me.

So there I was, lying in the tub, over-flowing with bubbles. At first I felt like a woman of luxury, I imagined a scene in an old Audrey Hepburn film; that soon faded and very quickly I felt like a small child excited by the bubbles, playing and giving myself a Santa beard.

Some time passed, the novelty wore down and while I lay there listening to the bubbles pop I felt a desire to write. I felt like I needed to write something, anything, it didn’t seem to matter what or whether it would be any good or not. I kept laughing to myself that I wanted to call myself a writer but I never wrote. (The writer who never writes. Ha.) The problem was that I knew that nothing was ever going to come out sitting in the confines of my bedroom, which I’ve taken to calling my cell.

I quickly jumped out of the bath and got myself dressed and ready to go, leaving a trail of bubbles behind me. I grabbed nothing more than a few CD’s, a notebook, pen and my keys and drove without really thinking of where to end up. After a quick trip to my old favourite building, the church in my nearest village (I’m not Christian by the way, I just love this Church) I sadly find the doors locked up and I took a drive to a spot that I felt needed re-visiting. A little lay-by by a river where myself and a number of my old friends used to go when we needed to take some time out from what we thought were the stresses of life and being young; how naive we were.

So I sat in my car and tried to write; the first thing I did was accept that I was NOT going to write a masterpiece, I was out of practice and had little inspiration or thoughts to provoke anything mind blowing; so I just wrote. Now, please don't get this wrong; I grew tired of my terrible poetry/songs long ago but I think I just felt like doing it for the sake of it. The rhyming was basic, the verses were simple but it felt good to create something, even if it was a pile of c**p.

So to conclude; if you're ever stuck in a bit of a rut with nothing to do;
TAKE A BUBBLE BATH!

Now back to the Xbox :)



A segment from what I wrote today;

“For the Writer who doesn’t write,
For the fighter with no one to fight,
For the vegetarian who eats meat,
For the walker with the sore feet,
For the friend you know will never call,
For the friend who seems to know it all,
For the drunk with nothing left to drink,
For the educated who can't seem to think,
For the driver who can’t seem to drive,
For the living who don’t feel alive.

For the Violent Pacifist filled with rage,
Who’s time has passed, who’s lost their age,
For the crying girl who hides her face,
For the lonely ones, who’ve lost their place,
For the burning that has lost its light,
For all the good who've forgotten what's right...

... Believe and walk and laugh and cry,
Before its time,
To say goodbye.

... For the writer with no words left to write,
becomes a fighter with something to fight...”

Images: © Lucas Vale