Indecisions and Inhibitions

Just like hiding beneath the sheets after a long day or strumming the four strings of a cheap ukulele bought at the local music store, there is something therapeutic about not knowing what one wants. It's that being lost in the shadows of whatever it is black and white that makes it easy to breathe. It's the calm in the middle of a panic attack that stops blood from flowing through your arms and legs and heart when all it wants is to rush out of your veins and write the words do something on the canvass that has been sitting in front of you for twelve or thirteen months. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. It is that kind of therapy that then takes you back to yourself. Temporarily.