It’s not a hit, it’s a holiday…

I’m not entirely sure why I can’t seem to keep up with this blog but I can’t. I just cannot seem to muster up the strength to do much anything creative anymore.

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It’s been a strange few months. Lots of changes in lots of ways. Finally made it through the winter and now full steam ahead into the burgeoning spring. It seems there’s reason once again to get up in the morning. With temperatures high enough to allow the fresh air to sail through the screen door once more I actually find myself making way to areas of the world that don’t exist solely within the confines of my house.

The bee has a new job and works long, late hours. Because I’m so ridiculously co-dependent that means that my schedule has taken a shift of course as well. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, just a different thing.

You would think this would mean I’d have all that much more time to spend writing and being creative blog-wise but I’ve found myself seeking out joy and solace in catching up on books I’ve always meant to read and leisurely but methodically learning how to play the guitar.

There was a time when I thought I could have been a “good” blogger. Now I know that was just a hazy pipe dream. It’s kind of sad to admit but it’s also OK. Not everyone can be everything they want to be all the time. Still, I continue to hold onto the hope that I can be something someday.

I’ve just started to realize that the sweeping ribbon of emotional rollercoaster highs and lows in my life can actually manage to balance themselves out if given some time and self-determination. After leaving my job in October and going on with life without medication I decided it was probably important for me to document my moods to gain a better understanding of what all this internalized mania means.

I began to keep a journal. A diary, if you will. Entires are sporadic but frequent enough, I hope, to help me in the future when I begin to somersault into the dark unknown as I’m biologically prone to do.

I don’t know what exactly is to become of this blog but this admission of a decided lack of focus and motivation isn’t necessarily a towel thrown down in defeat.

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There’s a great song from a great band that keeps playing itself over in my head lately:

No one wants to pay to see her happiness
No one wants to pay to see her day-to-day
And I’m not buying it, either
But I’ll try selling it… anyway

I love the hypocrisy of the lyrics. I live them all the time. I claim to hate the internet; its over-saturation in our culture but I’d be lying if I said I don’t check my phone hourly for email and that I don’t consult the web for practically every question I can’t answer with my own under-utilized mass of grey matter.

I tell myself that I should desert blogland, just do it, find some other way to feed my ego that isn’t so self-indulgent but then who would hear my furious cries for attention?!

I find myself thinking about how much I need it especially while absent from it. There’s a lot of uninspired twaddle plastered on the internet; this post only failingly aspires to be something more. Even still my lack of enthusiasm for my own creativity is just pure laziness. Doing nothing is almost always easier than doing something.

And my writer’s block? It don’t mean shit. I just need to throw it against the wall and see what sticks…