Today is one of those days that I don’t feel like being the life of the party or having a clever quip.  I don’t want to be the unstoppable force of nature that I am 95% of the time.  I’m not made of granite, fairy dust or any other amazing stuff.  I just feel like a chick in a tshirt, who doesn’t feel so well and is in desperate need of a hug.

I love my life. My multifaceted, hilarious life.  But sometimes, most times, I feel like a verb. I’m lucky enough to have some chances to feel like Mel, the noun.  I hate that those times just feel like vacation though.  When you’re a person, or even a place or a thing, there’s a certain amount of protection that you’re afforded.  As a verb, I feel raw and exposed.  Sometimes that’s appropriate and necessary.  I want things to be a little more balanced.  I hate that when I have moments of utter peace, I’m quaking in my boots, because utter peace is a totally new thing for me.  Maybe I’m the biggest enemy to my vulnerability.

I’m not feeling particularly smart, pretty or ready for the world today.  I hate days like this – strong face days.  I really just want to sit down and cry. Not for any real reason other than things don’t feel right and I need to get it off my chest.

I probably won’t though. Too much other verb stuff to do.

Beneath my rough and tumble exterior, beats he heart of a softie.  Surprising I know.  I’m tough and whatnot, but I think love is the bomb.  Especially love stories.  When I think about the guys I’ve loved, I’ve always been just as in love with the story of how we got there.  This is why I enjoy a good romantic comedy.  Emphasis on “good.”  I’ll typically take an action movie over anything, but a GOOD rom-com has my loyalty forever. Read more

I hate having anxiety attacks.  It manifests itself in a million different ways.  This attack seizing me, is using writer’s block as its main weapon.  I haven’t blogged this week, not due to laziness, but due to an inability to complete a thought.  I have writers block all the time, but when it prevents clear thinking in terms of writing my way through, it’s the absolute worse.

However, I’m committed to writing.  Even if I’m writing about having nothing to write about.  My second kindle broke, which is contributing to my block.  I believe in the symbiotic relationship that exists between reading and writing.  In addition to that, my ideas are seemingly bottlenecked at my wrists, and not coming out through my fingers.

I can’t even tell if the bout with melancholy has caused the writer’s block, or if the writer’s block is responsible for the melancholy.  I just know that I plan on taking very good care of myself over the next couple of days so that hopefully, I’ll be in fighting form soon.