My Imagination Yells Write Write

My imagination yells write write write, or paint at least. She is insistent, and worried, a concerned, noncompliant beast. We need to do something! She argues. This sleeping is weird. I have reached a point where slumber is nothing to be feared. Still, like a three-year-old I do not want to take a nap. It makes me feel old and feeble, which makes me feel like crap. I want to do what my imagination wants me to do. But this body of mine is not helping, which makes me blue.