Writing when you've nothing left to say

I remember years ago when I killed the editor and the words started flowing. French emerged, Iikely because my English felt so powerless to convey the flavor of the stream in my mind. And the scrawl in the page, in
purple splashing light, somehow reflected more accurately the shape of my thoughts than these stultifying and restrictive blocks that I am bound to try to hit in order to get the words in the stream to fall out onto the page. Unfortunately, the last time i dug out that tool in order to scrawl, it broke in half. A hundred dollar Waterman pen broke in half in my hand - like a sign from God that i should not be wasting my time doing this. In addition, the editor, who was dead then, cannot resist reviewing my typing at very short intervals so that I do not forget what I have written. As if the words that were coming out at this point meant anything. Just the mind of a questioner who loves the language and it's ability to contain an answer, like the wise man in my past once told me, "I don't know. I'd have to write about it to find out what I thought about it.". All I have now is a glimmer of hope, that this pattern will not continue. And it begins, it begins with paying off the credit card, and thanks to Charity, who lives the dream I once had, with so much more awareness and grace than I ever would have had. And, by the way, how *do* you say "pay off my credit card" in Spanish?


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