Morning Pages

In my entire traditional school career, I only received one “D” grade — in handwriting. (It was a subject taught with great care when I was in elementary school. I was terrible at it.) A teacher I know once told me my handwriting looked exactly like that of their behavior-challenged students. When I do send handwritten notes, I block print because I have been told so often that the recipient can’t read what I’ve written otherwise.

Which is to say: my handwriting is messy, hard to read, terrible. And I absolutely love it. I’ve been delighted by it again as I am doing morning pages in the recommended way (longhand.) Today’s draft is inspired by my atrocious handwriting. This is also a little play with a single metaphor, just to see how long it lasts before it falls apart

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedIs it a jumble of messy penmanship? Or is it a finally-free tangle of neurons,invited to leave the cave of the brain,having slid gleefully down my neck, over my shoulder, and through my arm(like a carnival slide then sent you sailing into the air for an instant)laid out now on this blank piece of paper.Is it, in fact, neurons holding guard over the blankness,laying down their lives for the cause of ending vacancy? Is it, perhaps, the joyful presence of a neuron openingto sun-bright eyes, and the gale force winds of judgement?