Think about sitting down to write--a report, a term paper, a legal brief, a short story, or any other form you choose--and observe your emotions, your thoughts, and your physical response. Do you feel a sense of dread? Does your heart beat faster? Do you tell yourself, "This will never work out"? Or do you quickly think of something else you should be doing instead?
I just feel blank. I'm sitting in front of Lime--sure, I'm probably writing--but I feel blank. I'm too caught up in something else, but I don't know what. It's not like I'm thinking ahead of what I need to write. Usually when I write, I'm typing so fast to get the story out. There's probably a lot of backspacing going on, but it's not like I'm correcting anything or making things better. I'm just... backspacing.
There's no excitement. No rush. I'm just going through the motions. Everything I love about writing I now hate. Yet I don't hate. Maybe dislike? I don't hate Grant & Lauren. But when I work on them... there's no excitement. I'm not seeing the movie in my head. I try listening to their soundtrack to get me jazzed, but nothing. I haven't listened to Sondre Lerche in forever because he's so associated with Grant & Lauren.
I'm blank. I'm numb. I feel nothing. I know I should probably walk away from Lime, but I don't. I sit there, either writing very little or writing nothing at all, because deep down... I *want* to write.
If I try to work on something new... nothing. No words come out. I'll look at outlines for other novels, and I can't see the movie, or I can't feel the excitement I had when I wrote those outlines. I think about playing with writing prompts just to get my brain dislodged. Nope. I read writing prompts, and all they are are sentences to me.
I don't even get angry or frustrated that I'm not writing when I'm trying to write.
But I guess I do avoid writing, going through this blankness, because I don't go through the motions every night of just sitting there in hopes that something will click and the words will start flowing again. I fall back on excuses: I had a crappy day at work (which is true, more often than not. Especially with this miserable assignment). I had no work to do for most of the day at work, so I'm drained. I had to stare at a lot of labels all day at work, so I'm drained. Traffic coming home was awful, so I'm annoyed. The apartment is so cluttered that it drains me. I want to spend time with Jason... which used to be crazy fun all the time... but now? It's just fun. Sometimes it's like a chore. Wait. That's the wrong term. Sometimes it's blank, too. But it's because he's not spending time with *me* because I've lost that writer part of myself.
I can't wake up early to write before work because I'm not excited about the day. I mean, look what I have to look forward to. Staring at labels and templates. Though I strangely like comparing ingredients. Maybe because it feels more like editing.
I wonder if this writing blankness indirectly plays a part in my pissiness with Thursday group?
I don't feel anything when it comes to writing. Be it the actual process or the other aspects of it. I mean, yeah, I'm starting to read again. But it's been books on Christianity. I've avoided reading fiction much like I've avoided writing. Hell, I can't say I've *avoided* writing. It's hard to avoid something that you just don't do anymore.
I'm jealous of Dan. I think that's why I get nervous about him coming back to Cincinnati and Jason spending time with him. I'm jealous of Dan because he's doing music; he's doing what he loves. I'm lucky if I can write a paragraph. The other night when Jason said he needs to break out the SK-1 and start playing with it, start making music... I got jealous then, too. Because he's inspired, because he's going to be creative. Meanwhile, I'm just so... blank.
God, just writing this journal entry... I've done a lot of backspacing. And when I'm writing this... I'm not even thinking. But it's not "not thinking" like in a good way. Like I'm so lost in my words. I'm just... not thinking. And it's like I'm not even *there*, experiencing the flow. Yet it doesn't feel like I'm forcing the words. I didn't even want to do this prompt. I started reading chapter two. I had to make myself stop, force myself to pick a prompt to explore, telling myself that I'm not going to get my writer self back if I don't at least try.
I think I feel blank in most areas of my life.