Who knows what number in the series it actually is. Or if there even is a series.
I don’t remember the last time I was able to scrape together a fictional story of any kind. Maybe the “untitled” thing that I dug up and posted a few weeks ago–yet even then I couldn’t come up with a title. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. Probably just rusty from being lazy and undisciplined. Plus I’m getting nervous because it’s almost September–those who know will know what I mean!
I should be going to sleep now; actually, I should already be asleep but I’ve got the terrible habit of staying up too late because I don’t want to fall asleep and then wake up to go to work. The longer I stay up, the more time I have before I go. For some reason, very few people understand this concept.
Anyways, back to writing. I haven’t written a writer’s block post in a long time. I think that’s a good thing. I’d be too ashamed to at this stage of the game, anyway! After a while, you can’t get away with that sort of thing. It’s too easy. Oh, I have writer’s block, pity me. Nah, I don’t feel like taking that approach right now.
You know what I think the problem is? There are so many things up in the air for me right now. It’s like having a boo-boo that would feel awkward or creepy to touch, so you just want to keep it covered until it scabs over. I don’t do well writing about things as they’re happening–I can only collect impressions and then later on, once the time has passed and I have digested them, I will be able to write about it.
Like right now, for instance. Unwelcome wedding drama continues to heat up. People being underhanded, rude, selfish. I don’t want any of this and it’s happening all around me. Some of it would actually provide great fodder. I can vent about it, sure–but it’s difficult to fictionalize it when you don’t know the outcome. I don’t believe in writing stories the way they happen in real life. Usually, there’s a kernel of truth that can be extracted from it, which sprouts into a story that might bear little resemblance to the real thing . I think it comes out better that way. Yet, the story is still true nonetheless. But how can I find the truth unless the episode is concluded?
I can’t blame work because I am not stressed there right now, though it is the calm before the storm. Hopefully, I won’t go into a psychosis this holiday season. Every holiday season except the last two, I went into a psychosis in which I was barely recognizable and said/did many things I regret. I think I have broken that chain, now, whether through willpower or just not caring enough anymore to get worked up. The only thing that stresses me out at this moment is meeting so many new people to train. I have bad anxiety and it takes all of my Oscar-worthy acting ability to pretend that I’m sort of friendly when I’d really prefer to just hide in the back office in the dark and count money that doesn’t belong to me.
Then, my father has been rather ill. That’s another issue I don’t want to contemplate. Throughout my life, I’ve had many experiences of things looking bad… then they’re fine. Then bad… then they’re fine. Until one day I run out of answered prayers and things are not fine. Right at this moment, I think things will be fine. But there’s always a next time… and people have expiration dates and you can’t outrun them no matter how many times you’ve been spared the pain and given new chances. This too is something difficult to write about.
Therefore, I return to the beginning, which is my difficulty with fiction. How do I write about a painful matter like that while I’m in the middle of it? So I mostly find myself retreating to my room to write, in a diary, short entries, factual tidbits–separated by dashes–like this–because I am too lazy and rushed to write in complete sentences–and short descriptions of my emotions–and someday they’ll provide the basis for something, whether I like it or not; or perhaps it’s better to phrase it this way: they’ll provide the basis for something whether I know I need it or not.