Bones of my imagination

Until I make the bones of my life resemble the bones of my imagination, I’m stuck playing scenes on a stage still waiting to be built.

Picked this quote out of a recent (today’s) journal entry and I think, while I’m not willing to reveal quite as much of my…internal crap…as that entry goes into, I do rather like this particular quote (if I do say so myself)-probably more than it deserves but it does pretty much encompass what I think of as my central issue – or, to use a more familiar analogy – this is the wall I’ve been bashing my head against for what could be years by now (I don’t really remember – all the bashing makes things hazy, you know).

I can see the stage, I can even feel it when I’m in the midst of a new obsession but it’s no more than smoke and mirrors and, no matter how good the fantasy gets, it never lets me forget, being just that-a dream, built on mist and sugar…it will, inevitably collapse into the nothing that it is.