Hmm, so this is weird. Maybe this is what it’s like when you haven’t written anything publicly in like 9 months. Oh my god how has it been that long…. But also strangely feels longer?
After I quit… no, quit isn’t the right word. After I chose to stop making jewelry, I pictured a life full of other activities. And maybe I was right, but I was also wrong. That’s really not all that different or interesting.
Fuck. WHy am I even writing this? My brain feels busy. I want to create something new. Something with words and ideas. Not with pencil or ink. Not with hammers and paint.
Something is aching to get out but I don’t know if it’s a good idea or just a bored 30 year old with no more distractions. TV is boring. Instagram is boring. Video games are slightly less boring, but they make you feel hazy before bed. Books are less boring, and you’ve read a lot this year. But books don’t scratch the itch like they did 3 months ago.
The van is moving along… finally. After collecting pollen and spiderwebs for 6 months. And that is good for a couple hours or so maybe once a month because you can’t even stick with that.
And life just happens. My 2019 mantra was supposed to be “___ on purpose”. To live, create, act, be, on purpose this year. And I think that it’s just a remnant of my small business life, setting goals for the year and all that. Because what happens when you repeat a mantra day in and day out, is that it loses it’s power. It’s just meaningless letters on a paper calendar clinging to the wall with a few pieces of dusty tape.
It can’t change you anymore.
I also recently tried to trick myself into a 12 week workout challenge. 5 weeks down, and only ONE week went to plan. How… How did I used to stick with shit, and get shit done, and make progress, and move forward, and keep the momentum up?
Like, what the fuck changed with me?
Everyone says that having accountability helps. And maybe that’s what I am missing. But also, my deadlines are arbitrary. I know who set them and I know that a lot of the time, she is full of shit. Hopeful past-me thinks that future-me will set aside time every week to meal prep, when current-me hates cooking and is already tired just thinking about it.
Past-me is ever the optimist, while future-me never follows through. And here I sit, pissed at them both for not agreeing on one fucking thing.
Why is it that we think we know ourselves so well?
Do we even ever just sit with ourselves? With our current-selves. And just, explore inward?
Being bored in the age of the internet should be a disgrace. It certainly exposes a deep lack of imagination.
Maybe my brain itches so that I will actually take a fucking second to stop and see what’s going on up there. To find the itch. To scratch it. Instead of distracting myself from it. Mindlessly going from screen to screen in hopes to numb the itch instead of addressing it.
Maybe I’m meant to scratch it and see what words come running or tumbling or tripping out. To poke, and wait with a pen or keyboard and travel down the stream of consciousness that spills across the white page.
I mean, if you haven’t noticed by now, that is exactly what happened.