Hormones and creativity

Weird. I don't need a calendar to tell me it's the middle of February. My body is peculiarly tuned to increasing daylight. Most of my life I was out of touch with my physical body, so I recognized the pattern only within the past decade, and as it only happens once a year, it still packs a surprise. Especially because I'm usually more an affectionate sort (caresses and big hugs please), and can take or leave deep, gritty sexual contact. This late winter day, while many people were still struggling with Seasonal Affective Disorder, it took one sunshiny afternoon to dispel my sluggishness. Recent days raised noticeable signals, and inevitably the feeling will swell its course over four or five months, but essentially it started in the space of one hour, even a moment, like nature flicking a switch.

Suddenly I am a walking hormone.

I had to write this because trapezebear posted an offer of virtual hugs, and I realized—with blazing clarity—that given the opportunity I would take a lot more. Not quite my everyday tentative self.

I had a particularly good time writing morning pages before work, fuelled by the exercise posted yesterday. A while back I tested the hypothesis that February was my best month for writing poetry. All my poems since 1994 have been saved according to the date I wrote them, so this was easy to investigate. The result was dumbfounding: some huge proportion, like one-quarter of all the hundreds of poems I had ever composed, were written in February.

Last year I anticipated February and used it to publish the chapbook. This year it caught me off guard again. This morning my mind was clearer than I can remember in months. Words came easily, refreshingly.

I knew a classy drag queen named Norma Love who sang all her own lyrics. Norm believed sexual and creative energy were the same thing. I suggest there's a strong link.