Not so much ado about nothing

I have nothing to write about. Not publicly anyway. Naturally, I edit myself before publishing my blog, making sure it’s subject matter that I don’t mind the world at large potentially reading. So when I write there, it’s something I’m not guarded about. Very different rules for my paper journal. In it, I can write about anything, anyone. I can empty my mind there. No one ever reads it. Unless I ask them to. Which is seldom-to-never. So why am I writing here instead of there? I felt the need to update. I’ve been living life, doing things, and I haven’t updated, and I want to now. But with what? I’ve gone to a baby shower, two birthday parties (for the same person), hung out with Claudia, made a raspberry pie for the first time in my life, registered for Beginning Jazz (again), all in the past week. But words are not staying with me to describe any of them…they’re having a drink and then leaving to go find a more happening shindig.

It’s temporary. It’s happened many, many times before. Every so often, I run dry with words. But then after awhile, they replenish themselves, and I’m good to go. It’s especially disappointing when I feel that I want to write something, like a poem or short story or journal entry, about something important, and I can only come up with gibberish that doesn’t convey the depth of what I’m feeling, or I can’t come up with a thing at all. Right now, what I really want to write is poetry. What I got, is nada.

So here comes a long entry filled with how I can’t write, right? Maybe. Maybe not.

I definitely need more sleep. I’ve been staying up way too late and then not making it up on subsequent nights. Because I’m a dork. I’ve been away from home a lot, more than usual. While I’m having a blast wherever I am, I’m also not taking time to reflect on the things I’m doing, and how I feel about them. You can’t write about things if you don’t reflect. You can tell what you’ve been doing, sure, but that’s merely reporting. I want to do more than that. I want to make sense of things through the written word—it’s what I do, what I’ve been doing for 23 years. So I need to continue to allow myself time to figure out what things mean to me.

I also need to make more art. How can I seriously call myself an artist if the painting I’m working on is lingering on the vine? It’s gathering dust, for chrissake, and it’s not even done yet. If the sketchbook I bought is laying on the kitchen table, unused, full of blank pages? That’s not cool. And I have yet to finish designing my business card and teaching myself how to build my own website. I have a new computer now—I’m equipped. That’s no longer an excuse. I have a ton of ideas for portfolio pieces, for paintings, for the website, even for 3-D artworks that are just for fun, to hang on the walls in my place. I have so many ideas, and I’m not bringing them into the world. I want to learn so many things, like how to play any musical instrument and how to sing well and how to dance and how to sew and how to create a website and how to love a boy without giving myself away. I want so much out of life. It’s not that I feel that my life is going by too fast, and I’m not afraid of dying without accomplishing anything, but I’m in my mid-30’s now, and I really do need to get my ass in gear. I’ve totally been learning a lot by going out and meeting all the wonderful new people I’ve been meeting, and having conversations with people I’ve just met, and having so much fun doing it—huge for me! But I can’t neglect my solo projects, either. It’s called “balance”. I have yet to excel in “balancing”.

It’s a lifelong problem. I developed an analogy when I was newly living on my own in my early 20’s: it came to feel like I was juggling the items of my life: work, relationships with family & friends, relationships with boyfriends, art, writing in my journal, school, paying my bills, housework…It seemed that I was always letting down or failing some area of my life, always dropping at least one ball. I could never keep them all up in the air simultaneously. If my relationships were going well, I’d forget to pay a bill or do shittily on a paper. If I performed well at my job, someone would be pissed at me for neglecting them. If I painted, I wouldn’t write in my journal or vacuum while I was working on it. I still have yet to keep all things in the air.

But the first thing I can do is finish what I’ve started. That will make me feel good for having the discipline to finish something, and it’ll give me the go-ahead to start something else. Baby steps, right? Baby fucking steps…

And this is me finishing this entry. Mazel tov to me.