What happened?
I still have fleeting moments of inspiration, and sudden bursts of creative thought, but not like I used to. It actually worries me (of course, a lot of things worry me). I mean, I have been writing stuff for years. Why did it stop?
In an effort to figure out what caused this shift in my life, I've thought about it quite a bit from time to time. I kept having these bouts of guilt--like I should be writing stuff down. I should be documenting things, re-living things, thinking about things, experiencing things. I thought, "Now that I'm divorced and on my own, I should be writing twice as much. After all, I don't have to find the time to squeeze in a little here and a little there when I have a chance."
After thinking about it, I started to wonder, what if the reason I wrote so much before was because I felt the need to break out of my daily confines? Maybe I was writing so much before because I liked the challenge of sneaking in a little writing here and a little there. Maybe I was escaping. Maybe now that there are no confines of any kind, no challenge of trying to find time to myself, maybe now my mind has gotten so relaxed that I no longer feel the need to put words down.
I don't quite buy it, but there might be something to that.
I have gone through a lot recently--that's a given. I have weathered the emotional turmoil of divorce, the challenges of moving and setting up my home, realigning my finances, and all sorts of things that come with going solo again. During all that, it's no wonder that there was little or no writing done. I was either busy or drained--both physically and mentally--much of the time. Now things have settled down, and instead of writing about things, I will put a movie in the DVD player and drift away into someone else's world.
I had this blog started right after I moved. Then one day I had this feeling I was under the microscope and everybody was watching me, and I took it down from public view. I didn't delete the blog because I really liked the layout and colors, and thought maybe I'd use it in the future. Well, I was just paranoid. I just wanted to keep Sue from reading it, and that was a stupid reason. The old, "cut off your nose to spite your face" saying about covers it. Yesterday I decided to resurrect it and see if it prompts me to write again. Just the fact that I jotted this down means the desire to write is still there--stewing beneath the surface and waiting to re-emerge as before.
And I don't care who reads it.
