My humblest apologies to everyone that supports me and helps me here at AP. I know lately, I haven't been real actively participating in group activities, but between work and life eating up all my free time, and working me unusual hours, my poetry as of late, has suffered immensely. If poetry just 'happens' then my inner poet has been hog-tied to a chair, bolted to the floor, and gagged with duct tape. She simply hasn't been allowed to speak, play, or be free enough to speak through in poetic voice. I'm doing everything in my power to free the bindings, wipe her tears, and remove that stupid duct tape. Every time I manage to free them though, I find her in that state after I arrive home from work, and have the freedom to sit down in front of my PC. No matter how wonderful or inspiring the challenge to write something beautiful. Images of that horrible day at work and the leering faces of all those ingrateful and soul sucking excuses of people swim through my head. I do other activities to 'unwind' and still...nothing...no words come to mind. At least none, that I could feasibly find interesting enough to work with. I laugh to avoid crying. I tell the voices that say "not good enough" to "CAN IT!" I stuff a sock in the mouth of the other voices that say,"You're not even trying." I read books to remove my mind from the present moment, only to find my notebook, thesaurus, dictionary, word finds, pencils, form specs, and other tools to write poetry, suddenly under my head several hours later, with drool from sleep. Did I fall asleep again? Gosh, I don't know anymore. The light was still on.

I've taken many 'breaks' from AP. I've found it to be of no avail. Almost pointless. It only managed to make more time, for you guessed it, work, work, work. Seems like I can only focus on one aspect of my poetic works at a time. Beyond that I can't seem to focus at all. my feelings of the subject go in, then it turns to layman's garble. I seem to exclude all the other things and considerations that go into it. Lack of rhythm, meter, poetic device, all fall to the wayside. I know how to do these things. I'm not ignorant of them. I'm stressed, plain and simple, and it shows in my work. I'm not proud of my work that comes out like that. How in the hell, can I help others in their poetic endeavors, when I can't even get my own act together? Yes, I'm berating myself, and I'm berating myself hard. I deserve to be berated for it. I do apologize to all my friends here. I felt that you all deserved an explanation.
I'm slowly trying to make my way back here after several 'breaks'. I AM trying. Really, truly, I am. I'm in a hellish state right now, though, so if I've offended or upset anyone, I'm sorry. I am not myself. I'm trying to find her. The Hettie everyone knows and loves. She's here, she's just going through a monstrously stressful period. Things are in general, improving, but the cost and expense of that improvement is slowly eating me away inside.
LIstening to:
"Frozen" by Celldweller
~Hettie
P.S. I'm become the workaholic I've always despised. It's killing my inner self.