Figuratively speaking, of course

Oh dear, it's happening again. I want to write. I want to write something worthwhile. Something meaningful. Something that will bring me closer to where I'm supposed to be. But all I have is this. These fleeting thoughts and huffs of exasperation finding their way out of my mouth. I don't know why this happens. I call it the 'Evil Keel'. I feel nothing; can write nothing. For as long as I can remember, it's always been like this. I cannot write unless I'm on the upswing of an emotional high or at the cradle of a visceral low. It sounds so manic-depressive, I know. But that's how it's always been. And when I'm not at one of those two extremes- this even keel stalks in and hangs around like an uninvited guest, hoping I won't notice. It shows up empty-handed. No bottle of wine. No potted plant. The nerve. Yesterday I said I wanted to light my life on fire, and made it a point to preface it with "Figuratively speaking" because words have power and I don't have a fire extinguisher in my apartment. Hell, I don't even think the smoke detector works. But that's what I envisioned. Everything on fire. Melting away. Burn it all. The humdrum office. The shitty car. The paradoxical relationship. The old suede boots. The tired bones. The inflexible schedules. The unopened mail. I'd like to watch it burn. Glowing in its soon-to-be goneness. Ashes and transgressions giving way to the wind. The Phoenix can then rise from the flames. And what of the keel? The keel, I'm sure, wouldn't dare show its face at my party.