So hard, so hard, the first words, like the first drops from an overcast sky which release the torrent welled up behind them in waiting for the sign that it is time to fall.

So long, so long, its been since my pen has danced across the page in a jumble of conscious and unconscious imagery that has been held inside for fear of release, the making visible of all that I am too frightened to otherwise acknowledge or share.

So here I sit, letting the water of my mind spring, rusty with the residue of the pipes in which it has sat stagnant for far too long, slowly start to flow again, consciously cautious not to break the leaky pipes with the full force of the pressure that has built. I wonder how many pages I must fill to see it run clear, wondering if even at its source it doesn't bubble up murky with the darkness of depths yet unexplored.

This then is an expedition of sorts into the places I fear to tread, where all I wish to avoid sits waiting, plotting its escape, seeking only acknowledgment of its own existence, of its place in the whole of my being, and so the world at large. The words are so small, yet contain an understanding of their own importance at levels I myself still do not. Thus I teach myself by distancing me from me.

Is this then the purpose of writing? So that the universe may know itself, know me, teach me about myself? If only I can humble myself enough to accept its knowledge and wisdom, what worlds could be accessed through these lines on paper, through these words and ideas that are of me, and are me, and are everything at once.

How does one even hope to capture the experience of so great an existence inside such limited thoughtforms? Only through layers of abstractions and metaphors until it becomes clear that existence is made of these limited thoughtforms and ideas viewed not from a singular source, but from all angles, from a constantly shifting perspective I myself provide.

But the truth, for now at least, is still murky, and necessarily so, for only that which is cloudy can be seen, while that which runs clear is all but imperceivable. And once truth becomes transparent all hope of holding it in words becomes as foolish as writing to find truth rather than joy.

It happened right after college. I was working a full-time assistant store manager job and was exhausted. Both physically and mentally drained to my core. My only thoughts were of work and getting home to pass out and sleep. At work I never had a moment to myself. I changed to an office job that ended up being just as stressful with phones ringing off the hook, interrupting every train of thought I had. I would start to have an interesting idea about a story and then brrrinnngg! I hated that phone. The obnoxious idea killer.

It wasn’t until I moved out of state and got into a new job that my mind was able to wander again. Every day on my drive to work I would be amazed by the bright reds, oranges, greens and yellows of the leaves on all the trees in springtime. I fell in love with all of these large old trees along my commute. I gave each one a story. With the largest weeping willow I ever saw in my life being my favorite. The tall weeping willows extended its branches down over one side of the road. Semi-trucks would drive right under the tree and be a perfect fit to get through without moving the thin, flexible branches. While the city I live in is a hub for transportation, I saw this tree as being the central hub for transporting natures creatures. I liked to think that little animals could use those branches and drop down on the semi-trucks. Hitching a ride around town with the wind blowing through their fur.

It was through this change in scenery and job that I was able to get out of my rut of writer’s block.

If I ruled the world I wouldn't change a goddamn thing

I'd grab a cup of black coffee, sit back, and let the peasants pay tribute to me

Well, maybe I would change something

I'd make everyone pay me a Ruler tax

The lash would be heavy but fair

Our rulers do the same thing as we read and write out these challenges

Do you think you can do a better job than them? I don't

You ask, @thelonely, to tell you a tale so short, of fancy and magic, of dragons and fires, of princes and kings, of bawdy exchange, within a single line, but I`ll only tell you how an old wizard ,who was without a tag or even an address, taught me to write overly long sentences under an old , gnarled tree, yet keeping sane despite immeasurable dangers , inexerable difficulties and unbearable, unspeakable grammatical greif.

I don’t need two bedrooms. The first is quite cozy and bright. I’d like to get rid of the darker one. It’s unnecessary.

Ma’am, that’s not how this works.

Well, two bedrooms is not working for me. This second one is just sucking up all of my energy.

Ma’am, I think somewhere some information was misconstrued. We just supply your fuel.

Right. I don’t want to fuel this room anymore. I don’t need an extra room.

Maybe you should try calling your landlord? It sounds like you need a smaller property? Unfortunately, we can’t help if you have too much space to manage.

I don’t rent. I bought this space. The bank said I can’t just return it. I’m hoping you can just stop fueling the extra space. I just want it to go away.

Miss, I have no way to only provide fuel to some areas. Could you just avoid that room?

I’ve tried that. It’s just that it keeps sucking up the rest of my house.

You’ve lost me.

At night. I spend all day cleaning and tidying. Especially in this extra room. I empty it out. I throw out things I don’t need. I lay down in bed, and I can’t sleep. I get up to check the room, and it has pulled everything it finds interesting back out of the trash and the gutters. Then I have to clean it all up again before I can sleep.

Maybe you could call a realtor? Just get rid of the whole thing, and start over?

Yes. I thought that as well. This is actually my third house. I used to have a one bedroom, but it couldn’t contain me. I bought a two bedroom to move some of my mess into, and it seems to be following me. I dumped it all before I bought this new home, but when I got here the second bedroom was already filling up. I’d like to cut off all power to this room. It should be vacant. Then I might sleep.

Ma’am...

Never-mind. I’ll just move some things around, turn off the lights, put the music up a bit louder. Maybe I will be able to drown out whatever is going on in there until morning. I’m a bit worn out.

That sounds like a great idea, miss. Good luck.

Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll call back tomorrow.