I Had A Point Once, But Hear Me Out Anyway

It’s exciting to be back in a writing mind. I’m eager to get my thoughts out, and I look forward to the dialogue my posts may open up.

But the mind to write isn’t the same mind to publish, and regaining that drive has been frustrating, to say the least. When I’m not meeting you all here, I’m meeting myself in my head. I write in my notebooks pretty often, here’s a look into what that looks like:

These pages are a visual interpretation of how I think. Colorful, all over the place, outside the lines, too much to even fit the boundaries of each sheet, and not even always in English. It’s hard enough for me to turn actual blog ideas into a coherent post, so I can’t say much of this book gets transferred here.

But I woke up this morning, drank some water, visited my notebook for a fresh new page, and wrote myself into a little mental breakdown. After I had a good cry and washed my face, I thought I might share some of what I wrote.

For a little context, I’ve been frustrated with myself and how easily I throw my plans aside for others’ sake when it’s not necessary or even noble to do. This constant self sacrifice has been eating at me in different ways and as I — eh, let me just quote the book and we can go from there.

Why are you so willing to hold yourself back? And also, why can’t I just cry? Sitting on the brink of myself is physically jarring. It hurts. The pain is strange.. It’s like being attacked by an internal black hole. Just an aggressive pulling, denying my escape, preventing the release, blocking the healing. No motive, just there. Tormenting.

I had a point to share all of this, but honestly the struggle to open up in this way took all of my focus away. It feels important still, so please excuse the scattered nature of this post.

All I can do at this point is ramble a little and hope it goes somewhere, so bare with me. I don’t mean to continue the same energy as the last post. You guys come here to laugh most of the time, and I’ll get to that. I want to get back to that.

But maybe it was that perceived pressure to be light and quirky and witty that led me to isolate myself when I felt none of those things. I’d rather be real with you than to not speak at all.

I was blown away at the reception of my last entry, actually. It wasn’t easy being that honest, and I really appreciate all of the responses I received, and the support and love. I don’t necessarily write with anything in mind besides clearing my head and shouting into the void about any and everything. So when my writing is actually relatable or helps in any way, even to just one person reading, it surprises and humbles me.

The more I write and share, the more I get to see the multidimensional nature of people, as well as myself, and it changes my worldview more and more each time. I feel empowered, I feel more forgiving and empathetic, I feel more curious, I feel more unaffected by fuckery, I feel hopeful.

I don’t really know how to wrap up this trash fire of a blog post. But hey, I hope any of you reading struggling to find that release from whatever finally snap. Because yeah, I woke up this morning and promptly fell apart, but I also got this written, drank water, moisturized my hair, and I’m gonna finish crocheting a scarf when I’m done typing this up on my phone(I’ll fix formatting issues when I get to a computer by the way) all before 11am! I can’t remember the last time I was this productive. Snap the fuck out, safely and constructively, but do it. Get there. Bye.

Advertisements

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.