A Plathitude
When critics screech I just smile.
Then I find a rock. I put it in my pocket and I wait.
I have ever so many now.
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Right now, I feel as though words are these giant soap bubbles.
Impossibly large and beautiful and so wickedly hard to grasp.
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I should know better than to wait between a wall of words and the computer. Doing anything else brings it down like a midget with a trumpet.
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What IS crazy, after all? Is it a convenient definition to let us ignore what makes us uncomfortable? Is it a way to ostracize those who need help?
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Screaming nightmares aren’t the worst.
Oh, no. The worst are the ones that you wake up from and then think Am I really awake? and then your brain answers Sure you are. Wanna kill something?
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That horrifying moment as you hover over the -Publish- button, wondering if today is the day they send for the nice young men, in their bright white coats.
The Process 
You shared your words. Don’t worry, this is the sort of thing that pays itself forward. Now, shouldn’t you be studying?
I liked the one about the nightmares. It’s nice knowing I’m not alone in those experiences…
I know you’re busy, but it makes me sad that there hasn’t been a new post here since November.