It makes sense that one cannot create something from nothing. A river without a source will dry up. A train without coal will stop running. A writer who does not read will stop writing. This has probably been said in more than one way, more than one time over the years, but I am now certain that it is true.
In the midst of being a good student, friend and sister, I seem to have lost the time to enjoy my former love. I have said before that we find time to do the things we love, but that is not always true. If it gets buried deep enough, for long enough, we can induce a sort of pseudo-forgetfulness. I know for a fact that I love reading, would spend all day doing it as long as the material was interesting. Fiction and fantasy to me were freedom and escape. Worlds undiscovered took me away from the struggles of my day and delivered me into an otherworld. But, I lost sight of it. I am now in the constant pursuit of good grades, rationing out my time to one organization or another, and filling the rest of my time with juggling friendships and ignoring my personal problems. In all of this mess, my love is still true, but it is neglected.
If I am willing to neglect it, then how true can it be?
That is a question for another time. What I am commenting on is my observation that, with the decline in my reading, i have also started writing less. The ideas that used to inundate my mind have now trickled down to the same, repetitive, frightening nightmare. Just one. And what's worse, I cannot even put the tale to page. All colors, actions and emotions fade to dust if pen dare approach paper, or finger touch keyboard.
There is a connection, a strong one. If you wish to do one, then you must do the other. If you do one, surely the other should follow.
I'm sure there is more to say on the subject, but I may soon become delirious (I'm tired, so sue me.). So, until inspiration or boredom next strikes my idle fingers, I bid thee adieu.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Just Stuff...
It's been a while since I've been here, but if I were to lament that, I would spend a great deal of time talking about nothing important in particular.
1)The death of the teacher.
Clearly, this whole teacher student romance didn't work out so well. I believe I wrote a grand total of one installment, then just kind of let it dwindle. I considered letting it go, but there is the hint of a challenge to it. The whole subject is something outside of my comfort zone, which is why I don't want to give it up quite yet. I might call it a project on the side. Something to work on in between projects, or when I need a release. Besides that, it will remain an uncomfortable memory.
2) What's going on?
I have been busy and not busy at the same time. Spring Break has come and gone, but little of what I had intended has been accomplished. It happens every year. I leave with the intention of locking myself in a room to work for hours each day until I have successfully completed many tasks. Unfortunately, this never happens. I could blame it on family, travel, circumstances, or mental fatigue. I could blame it on a lot of things, but the fact of the matter is, it didn't happen and that is my fault. I won't drone on and on about my failure, but it exists.
3) Crazy?
Could I be crazy? It was suggested to me that my, sometimes seemingly precarious mental state could be more than the standard struggles of a college student. Maybe I'm clinically insane like I had feared, or maybe hoped. Maybe there's something hormonally off that make me a natural crackpot. Something is screwed up in my head. I knew that, but does science know it too?
Here's the problem. In order to find out, I may have to confront one of humanities most frightening creatures. A shrink. Sure, they're just people who aim to help. But they are frightening. Their purpose is to invade the sacred space of the mind, usually with kind intentions. Even so, an intrusion is just that. A breach in the safety net built up after years of mental self defense. All of a sudden, they expect the patient to let go of every hard earned safeguard so that they may spill their soul to a stranger. Hardly.
And what happens then? Once you become accustomed to this vulnerability? There is the ever present fear that you will be destroyed. Your gates are wide open, and there is no one stopping the slings and arrows that life may throw. Even more broken than broken, you are led to a state where the only way to return to safety is to pay with blood to get medication and opinions from one plaque boasting official after another.
How is this supposed to help?
Just some stuff that was on my mind. Later, I'll add a piece I've been struggling with. I know that it is horrendous, but I cannot find it in me to try to improve it. Maybe the fear of public ridicule will provide some motivation.
Until next time.
1)The death of the teacher.
Clearly, this whole teacher student romance didn't work out so well. I believe I wrote a grand total of one installment, then just kind of let it dwindle. I considered letting it go, but there is the hint of a challenge to it. The whole subject is something outside of my comfort zone, which is why I don't want to give it up quite yet. I might call it a project on the side. Something to work on in between projects, or when I need a release. Besides that, it will remain an uncomfortable memory.
2) What's going on?
I have been busy and not busy at the same time. Spring Break has come and gone, but little of what I had intended has been accomplished. It happens every year. I leave with the intention of locking myself in a room to work for hours each day until I have successfully completed many tasks. Unfortunately, this never happens. I could blame it on family, travel, circumstances, or mental fatigue. I could blame it on a lot of things, but the fact of the matter is, it didn't happen and that is my fault. I won't drone on and on about my failure, but it exists.
3) Crazy?
Could I be crazy? It was suggested to me that my, sometimes seemingly precarious mental state could be more than the standard struggles of a college student. Maybe I'm clinically insane like I had feared, or maybe hoped. Maybe there's something hormonally off that make me a natural crackpot. Something is screwed up in my head. I knew that, but does science know it too?
Here's the problem. In order to find out, I may have to confront one of humanities most frightening creatures. A shrink. Sure, they're just people who aim to help. But they are frightening. Their purpose is to invade the sacred space of the mind, usually with kind intentions. Even so, an intrusion is just that. A breach in the safety net built up after years of mental self defense. All of a sudden, they expect the patient to let go of every hard earned safeguard so that they may spill their soul to a stranger. Hardly.
And what happens then? Once you become accustomed to this vulnerability? There is the ever present fear that you will be destroyed. Your gates are wide open, and there is no one stopping the slings and arrows that life may throw. Even more broken than broken, you are led to a state where the only way to return to safety is to pay with blood to get medication and opinions from one plaque boasting official after another.
How is this supposed to help?
Just some stuff that was on my mind. Later, I'll add a piece I've been struggling with. I know that it is horrendous, but I cannot find it in me to try to improve it. Maybe the fear of public ridicule will provide some motivation.
Until next time.
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