It only stands to reason that the one visit I arrive half an hour early for is the one visit in which there is no creative spark within me. The people sitting in front of me have closed their eyes and seem relaxed, one asleep. But as sleepy as I feel, my comfort level in this place will not allow me to release consciousness. So, I sit here and look busy, writing on and on about nothing, wishing something would appear and tap the edge of my brain.
Maybe creativity is what causes chaos…what causes craziness. What is creativity, anyway? Taking the norm and bending it, adjusting it to create something unique and individualized. Isn’t that all that my brain does? So, can I really be called “mentally ill” or is my illness just the torturous price of a creative mind? They say Albert Einstein was absolutely insane…but was he, really? Or was he just a genius, paying the price of an amazing creativity? Maybe I’m another Einstein. Who knows?
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