five minutes: new

It can be a curse, this magpie brain, this thing that can't hold onto things long enough to let them take root and grow. This brain that is like a sponge, absorbing everything, only it's set inside a colander so that thoughts just pass through, leaving faint memories of moisture.

Look! Something shiny!

I thought that I was being clever. Calling myself a crow. Calling this place the corvidarium - a crow in a fishbowl. I think maybe it was my depression associating itself with the darkness. Black calls to black.

But the other is the more basic truth.

I'm constantly looking for something new. Different. Better. More fulfilling. Shinier!

Only now, I'm being called to something new. Deeper. Focused. Settled.

Time to grow up.

five minutes of focused writing... no editing, no worrying about perfection; just fingerpainting with words.