The creative kind.
My creativity, or whatever it is that I use in its place, has been so limited lately. I should really try to pace myself. So I can get at least one decent journal entry every day.
Easier said than done, I suppose. Like a lot of things.
Like today, I wrote this in an email to my friend RockGirl:
I don't know if it ever really dies. I thought my hope was dead when I found out about [some fucked up shit this past Spring]. It didn't really die though. It just went to sleep. Every now and then its snoring wakes me up from this complacency I've been in.
I think the metaphor of hope as a slumbering beast is a good one. I should have saved it for a journal entry.