The fact that someone read my last blog makes me kind of happy seeing that I didn't post links to it anywhere. I like to think it means you either stumbled upon it or read it because you want to and you like me. As always, my obsession with who reads this and who doesn't is not the point of this blog. This blog is about those demons that always haunt me that cannot be repelled with salt or iron. Yes, procrastination and writers block.
So, for those of you who are unaware that my life is currently awesome right now should be. It's "spring break". Why is it in February? Why is it not is spring? These are very good questions that I too would like the answers to. I think February break has a nicer ring to it and doesn't give you false hopes of sunshine and warmth that you desire in the dead of winter.
Apparently February break isn't that much of a break judging by the horror stories I've heard from upper years and the fact that I have two essays due when I get back and a ton of reading that I haven't bothered to touch.
On Monday my excuse was that it was the first day and I was getting things together for my resume. On Tuesday my excuse was that I had piano and that I was handing in said resume. Yesterday my excuse was that I was hanging out with my friend Erin, clearly no time for working. Today I have no excuse but I can't make myself sit down and look at work.
I've written two pages and a bit but it's like pulling teeth. Every word escapes me and I have to pull it out of my head with such force that the next word escapes just as the first does. I spend an hour pacing my living room just trying to think.
I have a thesis and I know it's pretty solid. For one paper. On Frankenstein.
Darwin, on the other hand, has nothing.
Zip.
Zero.
Zilch.
When did I lose all my inspiration. When did I lose my desire to be me. On any normal day I can write and write and write until I sleep but today is so lack luster. I can still write but not about what I need to.
I feel like it was the other day when I didn't want to do anything. Move, talk, be.
It's always so funny how these things work out. One day everything is great and things are awesome and you actually think you have friends and whatnot and the next you're sitting alone in you room with the lights off and the curtains closed alone watching Amadeus until your mum gets home and you order Chinese food and watch Muppet Treasure Island or you invite someone out and something comes up or you offer someone a drive home friend to friend and they treat the other people you're driving like shit because they don't want to work on your scheduled or you end up taking the back seat to other people always.
And you feel like you're ready to give up and let the world win. Sink back into your lowly existence that you had before where you were the weird kid, the odd one out, who preferred spending time alone in their room reading books that didn't matter but after so long of not being them, of not having people literally run away from you, of not being made fun of to your face, of actually being kind of liked when faced with this partly chosen exile you can't do it.
You can't go back to being numb, you can't go back to not caring, you can't. And maybe that's worse. When all you hear is can't, won't, and I'm sorry I'm busy tonight maybe another time? And from yourself: you're not good enough, funny enough, likable enough, you're just not enough. But you can't be more. And no matter how many times people tell you you're cool and awesome it doesn't amount to anything because all you know is that tomorrow they won't be there, they won't talk to you, you'll be alone in your house pacing through your living room trying to write a paper and failing miserably.
I know.
So, for those of you who are unaware that my life is currently awesome right now should be. It's "spring break". Why is it in February? Why is it not is spring? These are very good questions that I too would like the answers to. I think February break has a nicer ring to it and doesn't give you false hopes of sunshine and warmth that you desire in the dead of winter.
Apparently February break isn't that much of a break judging by the horror stories I've heard from upper years and the fact that I have two essays due when I get back and a ton of reading that I haven't bothered to touch.
On Monday my excuse was that it was the first day and I was getting things together for my resume. On Tuesday my excuse was that I had piano and that I was handing in said resume. Yesterday my excuse was that I was hanging out with my friend Erin, clearly no time for working. Today I have no excuse but I can't make myself sit down and look at work.
I've written two pages and a bit but it's like pulling teeth. Every word escapes me and I have to pull it out of my head with such force that the next word escapes just as the first does. I spend an hour pacing my living room just trying to think.
I have a thesis and I know it's pretty solid. For one paper. On Frankenstein.
Darwin, on the other hand, has nothing.
Zip.
Zero.
Zilch.
When did I lose all my inspiration. When did I lose my desire to be me. On any normal day I can write and write and write until I sleep but today is so lack luster. I can still write but not about what I need to.
I feel like it was the other day when I didn't want to do anything. Move, talk, be.
It's always so funny how these things work out. One day everything is great and things are awesome and you actually think you have friends and whatnot and the next you're sitting alone in you room with the lights off and the curtains closed alone watching Amadeus until your mum gets home and you order Chinese food and watch Muppet Treasure Island or you invite someone out and something comes up or you offer someone a drive home friend to friend and they treat the other people you're driving like shit because they don't want to work on your scheduled or you end up taking the back seat to other people always.
And you feel like you're ready to give up and let the world win. Sink back into your lowly existence that you had before where you were the weird kid, the odd one out, who preferred spending time alone in their room reading books that didn't matter but after so long of not being them, of not having people literally run away from you, of not being made fun of to your face, of actually being kind of liked when faced with this partly chosen exile you can't do it.
You can't go back to being numb, you can't go back to not caring, you can't. And maybe that's worse. When all you hear is can't, won't, and I'm sorry I'm busy tonight maybe another time? And from yourself: you're not good enough, funny enough, likable enough, you're just not enough. But you can't be more. And no matter how many times people tell you you're cool and awesome it doesn't amount to anything because all you know is that tomorrow they won't be there, they won't talk to you, you'll be alone in your house pacing through your living room trying to write a paper and failing miserably.
I know.
No comments:
Post a Comment