I HAVE A LOT TO SAY. Goddammit. But I can't put it together in a way that seems "ok" to me.
I guess it's the literal definition of writer's block. Self-Censorship. Except that I can write certain things, like a 6 page essay on Audit Procedures. Yeah, that's a fucking piece of cake. Ask me about my job? Surrrrrre. But sadly, no one really wants to hear about how GS Bank reports it's deposits on form FFIEC_031. Unless you're the Fed, but I'm already in contact with those folks. So, lose-lose.
I can't write anything else that really matters within this little space for some reason. I have exactly 5 draft posts in line before this one. FIVE.
Five things that I started writing about and then stopped. They may have been great, or they may have bullshit. I don't know.
I'm in this really weird place where I want to write like I used to write.
Bare bones.
All out there.
But, I also feel like I can't. So, of course, that just means that I put everything in draft and I never publish it.
And, it just feels so fucking weird.
I LOVE TO WRITE. My Mom made me keep a journal from a very young age. Probably starting at the time that I could actually string words together coherently. So, I have this need and passion to write. To write everything. It's comforting. It's therapeutic. It's in the moment. It's feeds the OCD inside me. It's a great way to let shit go. I've always written about myself and the people around me, with what I think is a pretty unique voice. But it all just seems so fucking inadequate right now.
I have lost that little voice inside me for the time being. It's kind of frightened and half-way peeking it's head outside of the closet right now as I type this.
So, I think that means I need to try something different. I'm going to go back to the good ole' days and write it all out in a fucking notebook.
It might be quiet here for a little while. Jesus. Let's be real, it's not much different than the way things are now. But maybe, it's the thing that I need.
"If this dream should last forever, I pray to die." - Crawl, Bad Omens
-Stef
I guess it's the literal definition of writer's block. Self-Censorship. Except that I can write certain things, like a 6 page essay on Audit Procedures. Yeah, that's a fucking piece of cake. Ask me about my job? Surrrrrre. But sadly, no one really wants to hear about how GS Bank reports it's deposits on form FFIEC_031. Unless you're the Fed, but I'm already in contact with those folks. So, lose-lose.
I can't write anything else that really matters within this little space for some reason. I have exactly 5 draft posts in line before this one. FIVE.
Five things that I started writing about and then stopped. They may have been great, or they may have bullshit. I don't know.
I'm in this really weird place where I want to write like I used to write.
Bare bones.
All out there.
But, I also feel like I can't. So, of course, that just means that I put everything in draft and I never publish it.
And, it just feels so fucking weird.
I LOVE TO WRITE. My Mom made me keep a journal from a very young age. Probably starting at the time that I could actually string words together coherently. So, I have this need and passion to write. To write everything. It's comforting. It's therapeutic. It's in the moment. It's feeds the OCD inside me. It's a great way to let shit go. I've always written about myself and the people around me, with what I think is a pretty unique voice. But it all just seems so fucking inadequate right now.
I have lost that little voice inside me for the time being. It's kind of frightened and half-way peeking it's head outside of the closet right now as I type this.
So, I think that means I need to try something different. I'm going to go back to the good ole' days and write it all out in a fucking notebook.
It might be quiet here for a little while. Jesus. Let's be real, it's not much different than the way things are now. But maybe, it's the thing that I need.
"If this dream should last forever, I pray to die." - Crawl, Bad Omens
-Stef
