BraveWrite, Week 3

September 19th

She fears its gentle hands have found her again. It whispers in her ear all the things she shouldn’t to hear. The truth long gone, her heart long since battered, she welcomes the cold. It hollows her out. Vacant of emotion. It’s too late when she names it. #Depression

 

September 20th

In the state of #jejune, we were all consumed by our fables. We were a unique center whose storms were unlike any other. The Gods aimed for us, small and insignificant though we KNEW different. But then our eyes opened. We wore others’ shoes and heeded our empathy.

 

September 21st

Their trunks, china cabinet, and every nook and cranny served as a #cache for their precious items. The house seemed willing to burst at the seams with their collections. It was a glorified storage unit filled with the sentimental. She worried it would go up in flames

 

September 22nd

The world is full of the #esoteric. It haunts the realms of math and science. It teases everyone. But it belongs to the artists most of all. The ones who draw, paint, compose and write for themselves, hoping some will understand. They bare their hearts for acceptance.

 

September 23rd

Wanna know what I think? she asked all of a sudden.

What? His eyebrows raised above a curious gaze.

I think life is a marinade in which we all #marinate. It’s experiences, people, and choices are all the spices we added, She smiled and nudged him, Don’t you think?

 

September 24th

The clock chimed #twelve in the middle of the night and summoned the witch from her workings. Her feet bounced down the stairs, jostling the book she held in her arms.

Ah, there it is, she said while flipping through the aged pages. Clearing her throat, she began to recite.

 

September 25th

The abyss was #tempting, as always. It called to her in seductive whispers. It threaded its fingers into hers, holding her hand, pulling. Her shoulders drooped in defeat and matched the dark bags under her eyes. The image in the mirror wasn’t her so why continue?

Dig Deep, Fight Forward

Managed to be productive over the weekend. We finished the storage room (previously known as the small animal room), and are working on the linen closet now. I tidied the upstairs while Andrew slept, and he was pleasantly surprised.

However I failed myself already today. I swore last night I would wake up at 5 am, and I didn’t, I slept in. The late start has butchered my day. I had an hour round trip to make to get my one dog’s food (joys of feeding a prescription diet only available at a veterinarian clinic), and items to drop off at my parents, and brief grocery shopping to do, too.

This all meant I got home at 11 am, and my dogs got the latest breakfast ever. It means I had a very late start to a day I meant to be filled with energy and creativity. Instead I feel sapped of every ambition I ever had, and want to waste the rest of the day away.

I HATE feeling like that.

Forcing myself to sit at the computer is one thing. Actually writing something worthwhile is another. That’s the hardest pill for me to swallow at the moment.

The truth is I feel lost, and this blog post is simply a stream of consciousness.

I am unsure of what to post, and this fills the void in a rather lackluster way. I like the poems I write (some from imaginative places and some from the emotional truths of day to day life). I want to push past that which I’ve said before, but I’m stuck on how to do it.

Instead I post about knitting (I’ve started a baby cocoon now from soft rainbow/white yarn). I talk about baking with my mom, and other familial experiences. I have posted some artsy endeavours.

Why?

Because my life is random as hell and yet predictable, too.

The rut I’m in seems to be unending, and I look into my past to analyze all the other choices I could have made. I like to think I know where they would have taken me in life, but I don’t.

What I do know is, I need to find something that works, because I definitely love writing and want to do it for the rest of my life. The problem is, I struggle with my insecurities and the ‘normal’ life everyone around is living, the natural progression of their lives. The comparisons I constantly make about my life versus others is a waste of my (and your) time, too.

I need to find a way to work on my book, and shit getting done, too. Searching for distractions is slowing me down too much, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m failing day after day.

Good news though. Tomorrow is another day to make it happen. That doesn’t mean I don’t try and salvage what I can from what is left of today. It means I can pick myself up tomorrow and do what needs doing. It is in me after all.

Thanks for reading my rant, and maybe relating to elements of it. Any tips on what you do to overcome these moments are welcome.