What I Can't Say

Writing has always been an outlet for me.  I can spew my thoughts and feelings onto a sheet of paper, and feel as though I have some sort of resolution for any problem or concern.  This has not been the case for me as of late. Because of the confidential nature of my issues (i.e. work) I haven't had time to write down my feelings of frustration.  That isn't to say that I am not experiencing wonderful things to share as well, but when my hands are tied either metaphorically or literarily, the whole creative train comes to a screeching halt.

I must say that although my Google Reader has reached an astounding number of unread posts, I have been lurking around enough each day to get some sort of strength from those who are wiser, and more prolific than I can be at the moment.

Luckily, although my thoughts have been jumbled and I feel bound by the nature of propriety and good sense, although I am sure I lack that most of the time, I have found that sewing baby rag quilts a bit of a stress release.  Where I would have crafted a paragraph of undetermined length, a row of brightly juvenile fabric has become snuggly warmth for some child I do not know.  Amazingly, I'm starting to become quite adept at the art of sewing and cutting these things.  Something that started as nothing more than mere fabric squares, becomes a quilt in a few short hours of work.  A finished product.  Something my words are bereft of doing at the moment.

As the next few weeks unfold, and I see the path the our illustrious (or not so much, depending on your level of sarcasm) legislature takes, my stress may or may not increase.  I'm leaning towards the former, but perhaps I'll luck out...hence the blog make-over.  I think we can all use a bit of luck right now!