Blank page syndrome.
I know the only way to get past it is to begin. Put something down, no matter how crappy. Not so easy to do today. Keep asking myself what’s up and all I get is silence as an answer. Oh, I’ve bitched at the news already. Gone off on the assholes of the world. But behind that bravado there’s ..nothing. Emptiness. With just a hint of tiredness.
Pulled up the script and just stared at it. Put in a page break for the next act. Set the scene. Then I pulled a blank. I know where I want to go, know what I plan on having happen. But I can’t write it. I’ve typed in six opening lines and just can’t go on from them.
I feel stuck.
While I’m pleased I’m no longer itching to commit violent acts, I’d rather feel something other than this blah washed out sensation I’ve got right now. Maybe I’ll curl up and take a nap.
Aloneness is crashing in on me again. The lonely part of it, anyway. So much of what I do demands solitary time. Usually that’s okay. But when I need something other than that, life gets tough. I haven’t spent enough time cultivating social activities. Then suddenly all I can register is how alone I am. All the time. Hours and hours of aloneness. Hours and hours of not speaking to anyone else. No wonder I talk aloud to myself so much. Got to talk to somebody, I guess. Maybe I should have gone to class this morning. At least it would have been something, even if I just sat silent through the whole thing. I would have at least been in a room of people. Unfortunately I also know that being alone in a room of people can be even worse than just being alone by yourself – another one of those double bind things in my life. As the saying goes, better the devil you know. For me that’s voluntary solitary confinement. Social situations throw too many unknown variables into the mix.
Meh. Maybe I’m just asking myself to do or be something I’m not ready for today.
Maybe I’m creating a situation to give myself an excuse. An excuse to have sugar, to smoke, to fuck around and do nothing all day – you fill in the blank.
Friday. Got two things to do today. One, get my lotto ticket. Two, buy coffee milk. Snoresville. Short errands, going to the same places I always go. Just run basic life program 204; that’s got all the instructions my brain needs to get through today. Guess I better find something original to throw in there or I might die of boredom.
Goddess, where is my brain? Where’s my willpower? Where’s my energy, my interest, my anything?
I have rolled a stubby-assed little cigarette. Yuck. Don’t really want to smoke it, yet I really do want to smoke it. Been doing this once in a while to keep the headaches manageable. I do not find it pleasant.
Nope. Not the same without a little marijuana in it.
For all I know this is the beginning of a RA problem. My knees were hurting yesterday off and on, and cold weather is forecast to come in this weekend. Any time my RA flares up my mood goes down the toilet. Wonderful side effect. And no, I can’t tell the difference between a RA down and a depressive down. Feels pretty much the same to me. Generally I don’t cry on a RA down. Generally.
I did have a big sugar hit yesterday, too. So maybe this is the downside of that.
Maybe. Fucking hell. That’s one word I’d like to permanently remove from my vocabulary. Seems it’s always coming out of my mouth or flowing from my fingers on the keyboard. I suppose that’s indicative of my lack of self confidence.
Well. Set ’em up and knock ’em down. I’ll head off to do my errands. Not exactly the social I feel I need, but I’ll take what I can get. Come back and tackle some cleaning here at home. There’s plenty of it. Watch something to try and lighten my mood. Not worry about writing or bills or followers or friends or language. Ha! Like worrying is a choice. It isn’t with me. I’ve got better at handling it, better at calming myself, but worry is never a choice. It’s a thing that happens to me whether I want it to or not. I always hated my mother when she told me to ‘just put it out your mind, stop thinking about it’ like I could ever do THAT. Don’t you think if I could do that I would? Do you think I liked making myself vomit so much as a kid out of fear and worry? Do you think I enjoy being such a wibbley-wobbley basket case as an adult?
I don’t. Which is why I keep going. Because if I just gave up like I want to, then I’m really giving into it. Really allowing it to take over my entire life. I may constantly feel like I get re-set to square one, do not pass go, do not collect $250 – and I do – but that won’t stop me putting one foot in front of the other. No matter how insane it feels to me to keep doing it.
And it does feel insane.
Which is also a very lonely feeling.