i'm not burned out or depressed, nor do i have writer's block. i'm just bored with anything that i have to say. perhaps a reader may find some of the things i'm kicking around in my head interesting, but since they've been kicked around in my head - and even on this blog - often enough, i'm not moved to write about them. but what's funny is, i can write about that.
write about what?
write about how i don't wanna write about anything.
oh.
anyway, i was thinking, as usual, minding my own business, literally, and i figuratively tripped over a particularly interesting thought. why am i bored with the things that i'd otherwise write about on this blog? if the things that i write
why am i bored
with things i'd write about?
about are reflections of what's going on in my life, does that mean that i am bored with my life? or perhaps i am simply realizing the ultimate futility of being self-absorbed, since this blog is basically, after all, a monument to self - the experiences of self, the thoughts of self - sheesh, even self-deprecation is centered wholly around the self. reading that last sentence back to myself, i am reminded of the reason why i refused to take even the most inviting of introductory philosophy classes in college. too much dayum thinking. times like these are where the book of ecclesiastes is irresistable. i worry about what will happen when i outgrow solomon's musings.
but let me zoom out for a second and go back to my first pesky question - am i bored with my life? kneejerk answer: a little. i get up after too few hours of sleep, rush
busy people shouldn't
be bored
to work to almost not make it on time, reluctantly do what i have to in order to finance my after-five life, and then speed giddily out the door. i have my best girlfriends (when they're not tied up by men and babies), college girlfriends, sorority sisters, family up and down the east coast, and poetry (or should i say local urban arts), which has lately been the most prominent out of everything i just mentioned, what with open mics, meetings, concerts, parties... my laundry STILL ain't done. it seems like i have no good reason to be bored, doesn't it? busy people shouldn't be bored, right?
i try to think about the other extreme - excitement - and the first two things i think of are a) a relationship and b) my get-out-of-virginia project. see, when i'm building something in my life, something with a definable goal, something that's actually within my reach, something that i can look forward to building upon every
i do have some
passion in my life
day when i wake up in the morning - to me, that's the stuff excitement about life is made of - that's the stuff that inspires me to write. sometimes i don't have it, so i write to manufacture it, since writing has that effect on me. i can tell you now that my career prospects don't do that for me, since there's no passion there, and it's just a means to an end, which end will be getting myself out of my current career path and into another one. when that project gets started, it will be exciting. and before you think, "no time like the present," let's just say i'm not in a position to move just yet, but i will when i can. and so far as a relationship is concerned, as long as i have projects to keep me busy, i'll be fine if nothing's happening there. which explains why i took up knitting after one breakup and painted my entire kitchen after another. i guess you can say writing - my poetry, this blog, my poet friends, are the thing that keep my week going (i don't live day-to-day, cause my days melt into each other, but my weeks are more definable). i do have some passion in my life, so i guess, no, i'm not too bored for words.
next question - what about the futility of being self-absorbed? it's funny how much my train of thought has shifted since two paragraphs ago. i don't necessarily think
introspection keeps me
in the parade
self-absorbed is the right word. introspective may be better. i know the sun doesn't rise and set because of me or my writing. time and life and circumstances will parade right on by me if i let them. i think maybe introspection is a good thing - something that keeps me in the parade. in fact, i think that my desire and ability to search my self and articulate my inner workings are the main reason why i see myself
in the parade, instead of being trampled by it, or lagging behind it, or watching disinterestedly from behind the wooden barriers that say, "do not cross."
an old loverfriend (the one who had me knitting) is as much to blame for my penchant for writing as my dad is for giving me my first diary. he was big on the concept of
knowledge of self
is good
articulation - understanding and being able to voice and analyze the self and the rest of everything that the self encounters. one of the most enriching writing exercises i've done was in a letter to him, early in our relationship, where i realized that writing to him before talking to him was more productive for me than just flying off the cuff without having sorted out my own feelings first. it's funny how my acquaintances say that
i think too much. i didn't have nothing on this guy. but i agree with him - knowledge of self and introspection are good. this blog is good. if for noone else, then at the very least, for myself. confessional writing in a public space is teaching me things about how i communicate that i could never learn from my private journal alone.
i am still committed to teaching myself the discipline of writing for an audience every day. i think i am growing as a communicator from writing and from reading others' blogs. growth is good. perhaps, when i finally send my first published book to O and xxxxxxx, they'll actually be holding something worth reading, instead of the lackluster chicken scratch of an inexperienced communicator...
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