Please Kill Me,
Hello for yet another in-concurrent, irreverent, and borderline self obsessive post about the inner workings of an author battling stagnation and mental reprieve for the sake of his own sanity (or lack there of). Yes it’s me again, a little more lucid than I usually enjoy being, oddly enough I am somehow rendered simultaneously aloof. In my search for the next project that will whisk me away from the constant treachery of reality, I find not my creativity, but my ambition beginning to wane. I often don’t subscribe to the belief that “you use it or you lose it”, however due to recent circumstances, I’ve been forced to examine that theory yet again in my life.
I know, I know I have a horrible tendency to harp on about the same general topics over and over again. I must say though in my defense life’s tropes seem to recur more often than not, and not for nothing but it’s GOD DAMN FRIGHTENING. Just when you thought you’ve quelled the beasts, it pulls a Lazarus, only this time it knows all the tricks used to kill him before. Sadly enough, I discovered something about myself. My work is not so much an escape as much as it is a shield for my own self worth and reason for meaningful self preservation and progression.
That isn’t to say that I am any where near throwing myself off of a bridge anytime soon, but I have found that whenever I am in a period (weeks months, etc.) of uncompromising work and effort, it becomes a first line of defense of sorts against those bastard thoughts that tell you that just laying down and watching Netflix between hours of work is the way to go. In actuality though that is actually more stressful. Perhaps not if your brain-dead.
*The following statement is not a toot my own horn kind of thing, just mulling over thoughts. This is my blog anyway.
I guess my brain is just the sort that needs something to persistently focus on and obsess about outwardly, because without that outward expression and stimulation, I tend to focus inward. Which is never good when your an over-analytical/ obsessive kind of person. I mean I’m not sure what the medical diagnosis would be (hold on while I Google it). Ah, okay yea #human. Damn what I wouldn’t give to have been raised Vulcan. I’ll admit, I was close though. The main difference I guess would be my tendency to meander over things that I can’t control. On second thought it’s probably that. Word to the wise, cursing out your panic/anxiety attacks doesn’t help. I suppose the culprit pretty much boils down to my artistic and or creative side attempting to free itself in any way it can, even if it’s killing my vibe.
In retrospect, like most things, I guess I can only blame myself for allowing this antagonist brain of mine a little to much free time. Every force needs a focus (a modern reworking of “Idle hands are the devil’s play things.” I suppose.) So of course my solution is to get back to the long nights and seemingly endless and arduous days, you know back when I was happy and optimistic. Maybe I need that. Maybe we all do.
I won’t make any promises or grand sweeping declarations, but what I will say, is that I believe I have identified my mental niche/need. So for however long I can, it’s back to the cutting board.
Until Next Time Friends,