Map my mind -- Writing Experiment #2

Emma's Play has come to a standstill. Mostly because I'm far too lazy to edit all 100+ pages. I have another story underway with characters all screaming in my head, but I don't want to rush it since it has a strict week-by-week timeline. Words are withering at my fingertips. I need them to dance and live and thrive for me again.
-__________________________-

Do exeriements with sensory memory: record all sense images that remain from breakfast, study which senses engage you, escape you:

12:23pm
Droplets of dew that gather like bubbly stalactitest under a layer of plastic wrap, that make you wonder if the dinner underneath all that is still edible. Fridge or leave it?
Leave the leftovers; have that random peach in the fridge, wedged between strawberries and half an avocado, for breakfast.
Strawberries, and a whirl of memories of a different time. Images of white boxes loaded with strawberries and a dollop of yogurt, eaten fresh in a closed classroom somewhere in Gilman Hall, Aerosmith blasting from your headphones, white chalkdust all over your hands and jeans as you draw charts, numbers, letters, frustrate yourself over the solution to a game theory problem about weapons of mass destruction. 
My breakfast really is not that interesting... besides the part of a muffin that my sister couldn't/didn't want to finish. That was a good muffin. :)

2:12pm
Iced tea in a Dunkin' cup, with barely a third of it left. Two lemon wedges, one bobbing on its side like a displaced fish, wondering which way to turn, what to do with its life. Sounds kinda like me right now.
That's incredibly and unnecessarily depressing. The lights are off in this room and day is overcast. All my work glows with that cloudy filtered light, a copy of natural light, the type that tempers your breathing to pace with the quiet hum of the printer and eventually puts you to sleep.
I shouldn't fall asleep here and everyone in here knows why ;)

3:13pm
Think about time. And light. And music. How much your fingertips miss the feel of those keys, among other things that they miss. Paint. Graphite against a blank page, melting shades and gradients into live dimensionality. 

5:17pm
Sharpie fumes that swirl into the dark lines that make up a sketch of your lemons at the bottom of an empty Dunkin' cup. Fumes that swirl with enough force on your mind to challenge the effects of a handful of Advil. Fumes that turn vibrant summer yellows into an inky blackness whose intensity you cannot control.
Because sharpies are so difficult to draw with :(

Craving Inspiration

Flood my life with music,
And I'll write you a story.
Fill my days with timeless chords,
And I'll provide you the words.
Give me an endless rhythm,
And I'll give you your dancers.
Scatter a handful of notes across my world,
And I'll let the letters play off my fingertips
Just how you want it,
If you would only play your fingertips off me
Just how I want it.
"Touch me till my ribs become piano keys
Till there is sheet music scrolled
Across the inside of my lungs."*
Give me music,
And I'll give you your story.

*"Stay" by Andrea Gibson, a brilliant artist