The last few weeks have been a blur of hospital stays for me. I really need to screw my head on straight and now that I’m officially discharged and freely relaxing in the Starbucks near my apartment, I am breathing in and out with such peace. I need to start working on what Melissa, my boss, is wanting me to write up for her. I really need to star focusing on the job I have at hand and not be all paranoid about what my employment will look like in 5 years.
I really need to start writing stories again. I have been wrapped up in the suffocating efforts of creating a memoir that is much anticipated.
Reality really hasn’t been all too dependable as of late. Friday night I had an experience that just most assuredly shouldn’t happen to anyone and I feel like I’m having an identity crisis. Calling it an out of body experience seems a little far-fetched at times and then ultimately too perfect for the situation I am currently finding myself in. Because of this, I am definitely feeling as though a nice, long walk is in order so as to clear my head.
I know what’s killing my focus. Distraction. Every stupid thought that doesn’t positively reinforce me is just weighing me down, reminding me what I lack and as a confident woman,I choose not to dwell on those things. I choose to remain positive and that means doing things that make me happy.
I don’t support the act of being selfish at all however,, the end justifies the means and I believe that it is unbelievably important that, as a writer, I reacquaint myself with selfish desires.
So lately I haven’t been one to write about anything at all… and to be honest, that just feels odd. Without my love for the written word I feel so lost and undone, probably because I used to define myself through my writing and now I’m just fumbling around in the dark being unable to discern whether or not that is a valid way to look at things.
Parts of me feels like I don’t have what it takes to become a writer. There is a certain level of dedication which I am just unable to reach because I am so quick to flit from one idea to the next and I really struggle to focus in on one thematic story line.
Another area I struggle with is organization. The organization of my mind, topics and themes I wish to familiarize myself with and explore.
Another roadblock with my writing coincides with my organization flaws. I can’t distinguish a certain topic to stick with. And would I like to write fiction or non fiction? How about either a novella or a novel? The choices are utterly endless and because of all these red flags hazarding my writing career, I’ve only been able to manage the likeness of a deer in headlights. Some advice I heard while I was in college was just to sit down and start writing. The subject, syntax or entire segment might be crap- but at least you are writing and the truth is, you got to start somewhere. I, for one, am kindly taking these words into consideration and I believe that there really is some truth to that concept.
Now to explain why I feel the need to write in the first place. Truth is, I’m a mess. The only hing, despite my half-hazard organization skills, that’ll keep both my feet firmly planted on the ground is my writing- and since I haven’t been nearly as ambitious with my writing endeavors as I would like to be, there is obvious connection with my confusion and my inability to place priorities in respectable positions.
Because of these things, no in fact, despite my weaknesses, my need for clarity and peace of mind trumps any disdain for writing that my person has half-heartedly composed, I am wanting to become a much more regular blogger/ journaler/ writer! I clearly just need more focus. Having just moved into this apartment a month ago, I’m still having to make everything feel more ordinary and routine, but I’m not a hopeless cause! I just have to clear my mind and focus more. It’s all about the focus.