Tuesday, February 28, 2006

i'm good at two kinds of writing: methodical and emotional.

Methodical writing is what pays the bills. Newswriting, at least the way I do it, is easy; who,what,when,where,why. My words are utilitarian. They get the point across without being slowed by bells and whistles.

Emotional writing is my word vomit. it's what i do when i can't take it anymore. It's for when the mopey 13-year-old in me wants to come out and have a pouty party.

But I want more than that. I can feel so much underneath the surface and it's hard for me to give those feelings voice. In my head, it sounds one way but once i put fingers to keyboard -word vomit. And i feel like a blubbering idiot.

The things that gives me hope are this site and my tenacousness. I don't want to let go of my desire to write well. I want to wrestle the thing until it's conquered.

I am At The End Of My Rope

This is what safe gets me.
I'm tired of asking questions. waiting. wanting.
The wanting is killing me the most. It's stopping me from being happy and it's making me sick.

I'm tired of my fear. It binds me and holds me down.
I want to walk out of here but I know I won't. I want to be eloquent and witty and endearing but i'm not.

I'm weird and needy and closed in and it's pissing me the fuck off.

I'm blocked. I know I am. I'm stopped up.
I can't say i'm constipated because it's like i haven't even shit...ever!
I'm so tired and so ready for somethingelse.

I'm so scared that I'll fail myself. I feel like I'm failing myself right now. I'm deeply unhappy and I'm agreeing to it by sitting here. I'm trying to craft my life around my unhappiness but my spirit won't have it. At least that much gives me hope.

I feel like a 13-year-old with bills and bad credit. Wanting to hang with the cool kids.

Monday, February 27, 2006

There is a certain presence in my life that could possibly lead to me having a heart attack. or a break-down. Or...murdering someone*?

I won't name that presence because I like eating and sleeping indoors and such. But goddamn if that's not where the benefits end. I've been on this self-improvement kick for a while, but it's very hard to improve your outlook on anything when certain circumstances mean one is looking at someone's big, dumb head for eight hours a day. It's even harder when said big, dumb head is enjoying, well, more food and more indoor activity than you.

I am so fucking negative.

*Also? I'm not actually going to murder someone. Would not even consider it. In case that ever comes back to haunt me.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

there is something about now, this time, that demands something of me.

quite frankly, it's getting on my damn nerves.

i feel like i want to write, want to create, then i sit down and it all feels like a homework assignment that's due tomorrow morning. It turns into something i have to do and not something i want to do.

i feel like right now, i am my biggest responsibility and i'm failing me big time.

I feel like it's never - don't ask me what 'it' is - going to come together for me. That I'm never going to make it come together for myself.

How do I get to being happy?

I would love to immerse myself in writing. I need something, someone, some catalyst to push me over the edge and in the right (write?) direction.