I can't find it. Can't find whatever-it-is that works inside my brain that forces me to my keyboard or to my journal or to the recorder I have in my car so that I can free the words that are rolling up and over and out of my brain. Nothing meaningful is tapping on the back of my eyelids, begging me over and over again to write it out, put it to words, string words to sentences, organize sentences into paragraphs.
Nothing.
I suspect - no, that's not right - I know there are things to be said. Right now I feel walled off from them, tiptoeing around the edges of them and wondering when and how I'll be able to give voice to them. Half-formed sentences well up in my throat but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out.
When I run I think, I hold conversations in my head with myself, with other people, with God. I work things out and I draw conclusions. I think about what I think until I know for sure what I think. And I ran this morning and I came back not one whit more sure of what I think than I had been when I was sleepily tying on my shoes at 5:30 am.
I don't know what's wrong with me. Where are my words?
