Head to Pen...I make no sense

A friend of mine asked me last night...

"So, V., I loved your book, when are you comin' out with the second volume?"

Shock and amazement 1.because the friend is a man (which really shouldn't be a shock because it seems mostly men that enjoy it...maybe they enjoy knowing a woman is in total anguish) and B. because it seems people are actually anxious to read what I have to say about my personal life. 

All this time I figured people could be less interested, save for a few close friends and my family who are desperate for me to be "normal" again.  I have no clue what it feels like to be "normal" anymore...it's like when you get sick and you don't remember what it was like to be well, until you actually are well again.  I think that metaphor is more than just a metaphor, but yet a reality for me.  So I answered his question...

"To be honest, I believe I've run out of things to say...I don't want to talk anymore..."  I guess that's why I post so many music videos here, I have a thought or feeling and I find someone else's vision to express it.  Then again, most days I think I have a lot to say, but my mind and body are broken down from being tired I get to the computer and I stop before I hit a key.  I think that's why daydream of going back to paper and ink, a journal all my own that I keep hidden away in my lingerie drawer...I romanticize it really, sweet perfume and lilies fly out when I open the wooden rectangle and reach in for a golden tipped fountain pen and heavy brown leather journal.  I think I want to keep things bottled up for right now, I want to be selfish with my thoughts and feelings, while I try my hardest not to have thoughts and feelings because when I do, the sadness always wins, I have to keep my mind everywhere in order for it to be nowhere and then I can press forward.  But I cannot write another book, I've even hidden my original copy from myself, it sadness me to look at it.  

Maybe one day soon I'll get back to where I was, but it will be a while.