painful surgery

[juldea]

There's a poem in me. It's been in me for at least 12 hours. It hurts. It wants to get out. If I lie in bed and try to sleep, it stomps its feet and clangs pots and pans to get my attention. However, if I try and type it (or write it) out, the words fail and fumble. It's frustrating. I don't know quite what to do; I'm afraid to lose it. If my cell phone voice mail didn't have a timer, I'd call myself and just rant into my own voice mail, and go back to transcribe later. I can't do it in 1-minute chunks though...

I know I should sleep, but it's been so long since I last found a trickle of inspiration in me that, once followed, led to a well.

Perhaps a mini-voice-recorder isn't such a bad investment. But I don't have one now.