Musing

It used to be that I could write effortlessly. Words would literally pour out of my brain through my hands & fingers & pen & on to the paper. Those were the days when my words & thoughts & literary creations were unimpeded by the fear, inhibitions, and caution that comes with getting older & experiencing life.

Emotions, augmented by the hormones of adolesence, ran high which in turn inspired essays & poems; sometimes my fingers would not be able to keep up with the words spilling over & I would leave out words here & there.

Now, I occasionally find myself groping for just the right words to form my sentences, looking for appropriate metaphors & adjectives to do justice to descriptions of things, places, people & experiences that I want to put down in words.

Is this part of aging, I sometimes wonder. Is this an example of the slow loss of cognitive function as my brain slowly atrophies? Or is it due to the many years of dis-use, when all I wrote were case reports, answers to essay questions related to the study of medicine & case notes in patients' records? Dormant neurons, unused for so long, are now finding themselves shocked into activity again, trying to find old connections which may or may not be there anymore.

My muse is playing hide & seek. Come out, come out, wherever you are......