Maybe the Wizard Can Help

I need to go home. I have responsibilities to other people. Obligations. They are depending on me. Always depending on me. I am not ready to go.

I’m not writing.

I have not been able to write for some time now. I mean, I’ve filled up steno pads and the pages of various journals with the ramblings of a crazy woman. Even thrown a few of those up here. But to write, to sit down at the computer and put my thoughts on the screen and be able to do nothing else for hours, let alone days at a time . . .

It’s been years.

I can hardly take it anymore. I am carrying the weight of too many words unsaid. I feel numbed by their force, pressing me down, keeping me down.

I could always write with you. I could always write better, more honestly. But I’m not writing. Not even now. Here. With you.

I am not ready to go home.

I am not ready to go home because I know my home, but I just can’t find my way back.