I love the feeling of finally being over writer’s block. Writer’s block, as a creative person, leaves me feeling so crummy all the time. It’s repeatedly opening Word documents and closing them only to open another one. It’s wanting to say something but having nothing to say. I can write, but it’ll never be something substantial. It always ends up being something boring, something basic, something I’ve said before. But when I finally am out of it, it’s a clarity like no other. It’s like I was drowning and now I’ve learned to swim.
It’s a blessing and a curse, to be a creative person. It’s a blessing when I’m creating, I feel best when I’m creating, but when I’m doing anything else, it feels like wasted time. I know it’s not, and I’ll just get burnt out if I’m always creating, but I can’t always shake the feeling. It’s good to take a day off or take breaks. I tell myself this. But I’m also the person who will stop everything to write down an idea. I’ve pulled over while driving because I thought of an idea for a story. I feel like my brain is just always thinking about what to write next. As if it’s wired to create.
That’s what’s been on my mind today. I didn’t have any poems to post, so I figured I’d give you guys a look into what’s been going on in my head lately.
Also, I’ve been thinking of maybe writing a poetry book. I have a backlog of poems that admittedly need some work, but those plus some I’ve posted here, I think it’d be cool.
So, I changed my major again. But this time, it’s what I’m genuinely interested in: Fiction Writing! My classes start in January and I’m excited. When I was going to the community college, I had my major as writing at first because that was the closest they had to creative writing (aka my one true love), but I changed it to a general major when I started taking classes that didn’t qualify under the writing major. But I’m excited to be back to writing!
My first few classes are just basic classes I never took at community college, so I won’t start any writing classes for a couple months, but nonetheless! It is a venture I’m excited to be making, and I finally feel confident in my major choice. It’s taken me way too long to figure out what I want to major in. I mean, I’m 22, I should’ve already graduated! But everyone goes at their own pace, so I’m not upset.
Snow has been falling for almost an hour now. I awoke to see a dusting, but now it’s nearly up to my knees. I’ve got nowhere to be, though, and I’m watching comfortably from the warmth of my blanket and a cup of tea. Music plays softly from my speaker; I serenely watch the snow fall. Hours pass and the snow settles at waist level. Sighing, I appreciate this week off from work I’ve taken.
The brisk wintry air filled her with hope, something she hadn’t felt in a while. The trail was long, but she felt a warm comfort from her companion sharing stories. She didn’t say much, just listened and watched the trail in front of them. The greens and browns calmed her completely, and the smell of trees and the trickling of the stream nearby soothed her aching soul. She needed this hike. She felt her worries drift away as they climbed the mountain trail. Before long they reached the top. A cool wind blew through them as they admired the scenery. Treetops still shimmering from the rainfall overnight, the curved dirt path they followed now looking back at them. They made it to the top and what was that? Was that snowfall? She didn’t realize how cold it was, but now it’s snowing. She chuckled softly. The snow fell around them, soon covering the treetops and the rocks and path. They couldn’t move, mesmerized by the beauty of it all. Tomorrow they had to pack up and go back to the real world, but for now, they remained in the most beautiful place they could ever imagine.
No one prepared me for growing up. It sounded liberating, fun, exciting. To move out, get a good paying job, having the freedom to do whatever I want. I loved the sound of that. But I’m tired all the time and I have no motivation to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s boring, I tried to frame errands in a fun way that made them sound like I’m on some big adventure but it’s just going to the store and buying milk because I’m somehow always out of milk when I want a late-night bowl of cereal. Or it’s going to pick up a prescription but it’s not ready yet- should I wait for it? Or should I make use of these 15 minutes and go do something else I had to do today. And this was supposed to be my day off? My one day off this week? And I’m stuck at the store for 15 minutes because my prescription wasn’t ready yet. If this is what adulthood is then I want no part in it.
But that’s not all there is. There are concerts I don’t have to ask permission to go to, there are vacations I can take without my parents arguing every time we get in the car. There’s still fun to be had, it just feels less fun because I actually need the time off to recuperate from the long work week I just had. Being an adult is exhausting, and I’m not ready to grow up, but maybe I’m looking at it wrong. Maybe it’s more than just going to work and running errands. Because there’s also buying myself that new video game I’ve been wanting since I first heard about it, there’s playing it until 2 am and regretting it in the morning, but I’m still on that high you get when you first play a game that I don’t even realize I’m tired. I’m just counting down the minutes until I can play again.
Or, more personally, there’s staying up all night writing a new story I thought of during work and quickly wrote down on receipt paper so I would remember it when I got home. There’s the six hours straight of writing and editing and planning and more writing and more editing and it’s somehow all fun because I finally, after months of writer’s block, have something to write about again. I thought I had lost the ability to write, every time I tried to it came out as utter nonsense. As if I had written it on no sleep and too much caffeine (which was sometimes the case, but that’s beside the point). When I wrote this new story, it was like I was 12 again and just realizing my love for writing. The possibilities are endless and thank god I can type fast because the words come so fast, you’d think I’m on a deadline. But I’m only just beginning.
Just before writing Shan’s story, I listened to Morbid Stuff, an album by PUP on my record player. I listened to it all the way through and it struck a chord deep inside me. I related to it on a personal level to the point I knew I had to write something about it. When the album ended, I turned the record over and listened again, typing urgently. I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a nihilist, but I have my moments. And this album brought those moments out.
I recommend listening in full, but my favorite track off it is the second track Kids.