Getting Lost

I've been feeling out of sorts for a while. Not really sad, but far from happy. Almost numb. It's as though my feelings have taken a wrong turn and got lost on their way to Emotion Central.
When I feel like this I often realise it's because I've not been doing the things my soul needs. One of these (and the reason I've started this blog) is writing. Writing unscrambles my thoughts and allows all the little halfling ideas in my head to make sense of themselves. It allows me to separate the tangles in my mind and file things in some kind of ordered chaos. It helps me breathe.
My soul craves water. Not to drink, although liquid refreshment is very important. Water soothes me. It is the element that makes me feel the most at home. Swimming in it, gazing at it, or simply smelling it as it splots onto the dusty earth after another scorching day. In all its forms I live for it. Sadly water has also been lacking in my life of late, leaving me restless and constantly on edge.
My soul pines for words. To read allows me an escape from life. It allows me to lose myself in another world. A world where things may even be worse rather than better, but are, most importantly, different. When I find myself feeling the most lost I turn inevitably to books, all sorts of books: fiction, non-fiction, drama, comedy, travel, history, even (and not just becuase I'm desperate) text books. Somehow by getting lost I manage to find myself again.
This is how I'd like to find myself right now:

 Arabesques by Richard Desaix

The compete works of E.E.Cummings

"To me the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it's about, but the music the words make."

Truman Capote