(no subject)

[violettawilde]

 Sometimes it feels as though my participation in the arts (painting, drawing, writing) are about the only expressions I have of that more Other side of me anymore.  I suppose it's a good enough expression, though it feels somewhat... disconnected.  A little bit dissociated from my Real Life.  It's like bottled magic that never quite loses its stopper.  It's pretty and sparkly and sometimes, if I look at it long enough, it stirs up hints of half-forgotten feelings, a sense of wonder and the miraculous-- but it's contained, corked neatly and sitting on a shelf and waiting for the next time I take it out to admire its contents.

I sometimes just want to smash the bottle on my hardwood floor and let the magic spill out.  Not quite sure how to do that yet, though.