Loose Ends

I’ve been frustrating myself all year so far, trying to push through exhaustion and work drama to start creating again. It hasn’t been going well.

I finally put some time aside to write a new post yesterday, and ended up staring at my wall for two hours.

And then I was hungry.

And then I needed to pee.

And then I was cold.

And then I gave up writing, bundled up in my blanket, and took a nap.

This blanket, I made for myself three years ago as an anchor piece for my then goal of moving out of my uncle’s house and getting my first place on my own.

I was an avid user of Pinterest at the time, and envisioned the snazziest interior decorating in my dream space, and everything would be yellow and gray, clean and contemporary.

I crocheted this blanket over the course of a couple months and through a rewatch of three seasons of 30 Rock. It’s roughly six feet tall and wide, and it reminded me to save up every day I saw it draped across my bed.

I finally got my apartment, moved out, and it has been the staple piece of the house for the past two and a half years. But I realized something yesterday.

I never finished that blanket.

There’s always that one part of your passion that you hate to do. Art isn’t all fun and sunshine, it is actual work sometimes. And when it comes to knitting and crocheting, I absolutely detest sewing in ends when I’ve completed a project.

It’s arguably the most important part. The piece isn’t finished until you’ve sewn in the ends. It’s so crucial, it’s a common figure of speech.

Tieing in/up the loose ends.”

Where else where that have come from if not the fiber arts? I hate it though. I’m far from the only one, but I sure feel like the only one so hellbent in just leaving piles of old projects around that would otherwise be complete and ready to sell, should I just sew in the ends.

I’ve been using this blanket for the past three years with strands of yarn sticking out of every corner where the colors change, just ignoring the fact that my work is incomplete. Just acting like nothing is wrong with it. Glossing over my longstanding lack of follow-through.

You know how the question stands, does life imitate art, or does art imitate life? I’ve always found consistencies between my creative processes and my life happenings.  I feel like through this blanket, I have hexed my own life.

 

Why can’t I get a coherent thought on paper? Why do I have more drafts than published articles on this site? Why does it take me longer than two hours to put together one post? It shouldn’t take a whole day, a whole week, a whole month for one post! Why am I so scatterbrained?

This blanket was my anchor. It was my motivation to step into the next chapter. But I didn’t even finish it. Because I was too lazy. Because I didn’t feel like doing it.  But it was my first step. I brought the bad energy of sloth into my house and life with that shoddy first step.

Nothing gets finished.

I’m too tired to care.

All my plants are dead.

And I just keep wrapping up in this frayed blanket, wondering why. Wondering when it will get better.

Life imitates art. At least it seems to in this case. And I need to tie up some loose ends. A lot of loose ends. A lot of stupid pieces of thread all over the place, driving me insane and disturbing my qi.

I’m getting my qi back, one thread at a time. I’m 10 down so far, and when I’m done I’ll post a picture of the finally-finished blanket. And then we’ll see if I warded off the lazieness out of my house so I can write more frequently, not kill my new plants, and get my other creative endeavors rocking. I’m knocking out three strands of yarn per day, and I should be done in a couple weeks.

 

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Late Nights: Drafts

There are currently twenty-nine drafted blog posts on my dash.

Twenty-nine unfinished thoughts and half-executed ideas.

They will never come to fruition.

They’re only still there because I just made the decision to stop lying to myself that I’ll go back and finish writing them. The truth is I can’t even if I wanted to.

I thought I was just being lazy or uninspired by blanking out every time I got just enough motivation to open up a draft with the intent to finally publish it. But it’s not laziness or artsy brooding that stops me every time. I’m simply not the same person who began writing that post.

I feel like I think three days worth of thoughts in a 24 hour period. My mind never stops, and as a result, ideas and thoughts that I feel compelled to write hit me unceasingly throughout the day depending on whatever I see or am doing. Connections. Stories. Frustrations. The thought of Oh I should blog about that comes up multiple times every single day.

So why am I not posting all the time? Why do you rarely hear from me?

Because I’m an idiot, essentially. I keep telling myself that I’ll remember and I’ll write these things down later…

*Kanye glare at myself*

This site has been up for two years. I am beyond aware by now that I’m not actually going to remember anything even an hour after the fact. But this happens to be one of those lies you keep allowing yourself to be duped by, like when you say you’re just going to lie awake for a little bit after your alarm goes off before actually getting up. I’m just a very convincing individual. I get me every time.

Well, I’m sick of that, I’m sick of me. I’ve started off this year with, perhaps a rather dark new perspective but it’s working for me.

That me, who wrote those twenty-nine drafts? She’s dead now.

I’m never going to have the same perspective again to finish those articles coherently. Never. Time has passed, I’ve learned more, I’ve forgotten much, and I don’t understand the point of what I was saying at that moment. Either I’ve already settled it, or I’m on to new confusions and new intrigues, and I see the world at a slightly different angle.

So all of that to say I’m done sitting on words and I’m done trying to hold on to the dead. I look at my writing and thoughts now as a race against time. So here’s an early warning that I might make less sense than I did before with my posts, but at least it will be a more consistent barrage of madness. I think it’ll be fun.