My blog currently consists of 141 published posts and 7 drafts.
Lately, it has been very hard for me to write. I sit down and open my keyboard, but something inside me balls up tightly. I have a hundred thousand words welling up within me, yet I can't express any of them well.
What has changed from two years ago, when words flooded out of me so easily that I actually had to work HARD not to spill them all out?
It's tricky for me to say. Perhaps it's the grind of being a senior in college, of writing paper after paper, essay after essay, speech after speech.
Or maybe it's the monotony of working in customer service, in a job that requires me to keep a smile plastered on my face and a script flowing from my cheerful lips at all times.
Or maybe it's feeling an immense amount of pressure from the world around me to be perfect. I've already shared so many of my failings - so many epic flops of my life. Failed relationships, failed jobs, failed friendships, failed educational pursuits, and the list goes on.
Maybe I'm sick of faking it at work and school, but maybe I'm also sick of being brutally honest here, in my writing. My life is so messy and imperfect as it stands now, but I feel no need at the moment to invite anyone into the complexity. It's also, on a daily basis, very mundane. I get up, I go to school, I go to work, I see my boyfriend, I go home. My days are riddled with the same daily anxieties and to-do lists, the same simple pleasures (ice cream, Netflix, going on walks) and none of it really seems WORTH writing about.
Then of course, as I type this, I recall that writing isn't so much about what you have to say as it is how you say it. I could write about the ice cream cone I ate for seven long and winding paragraphs, and if I'm really getting into the ART of writing, it'll be good. Or at least... I'll feel good, after writing it.
So, why did I say all this?
Really, this was a horrendously forced post. I sat myself down and said, "right, I don't care what you say, or whether you blatantly lie, but you MUST write something."
And, so I did.
I will make a valiant effort to overcome the artists' blues I've been so deeply in the throes of, because even now, as my finger gets close to the "publish" button, I feel that little twinge of gratification, and it makes me long for the days when I typed up a daily fury.
sk
