A friend asked me if i was happy today, well technically yesterday, but I replied with an enthusiastic yes. I had a good week that ended very well. I got to workshop poetry with two of my favorite people in the world and I got to eat delicious food while doing so. Nothing beats food friends and poetry.
Of course I’m happy, what could I possibly have to complain about, but being the bipolar person that I am, there is always something. I think I’m crazy, Jane says I’m unlucky and then recants, telling me I’m the luckiest guy ever.
I don’t know what it is that’s bothering me lately, well, I know what it is but I refuse to accept that as the root of my insomnia or absurd feelings of dissatisfaction with the current state of my life. I shouldn’t let something so simple and silly get to me like this.
Really I’m ok or alright, which is better than all-wrong so i should get over myself and just be jovial for a change after all I really have nothing to complain about.
I need to run. I’ve been putting that off for too long. First thing in the morning I’m going to run, fast and far.
Writers block stifles even the best writers at some point and right now it has me in its grip. I seem to be having difficulty maintaining purpose throughout a piece lately, I’ve been writing poems with two things in mind, a beginning and an end. I know what I want to start with and the words I want to land on, but everything between is a bit random at times.
I find inspiration all over the place especially in music so I look forward to listening to some classical music that Nijla wrote about over on her blog. I hope it unlocks the poetry hiding inside me as it has for her.Preparing for an MFA portfolio has made me even more self-conscious about my writing than I have been in the past, but I know as a writer regardless of whether or not I am pursuing a career in writing I face rejection everyday. If they don’t like my work, so what, if they do then I’ll be thrilled, either way the experience will force me to scrutinize my work more and encourage me to work more strenuously on my craft and the diversification of my portfolio with regard to both content and form.
It’s late and I cant stop coughing but I should try to get some sleep, goodnight and much love to all my readers out there.
I try to laugh my way through the loneliness, distract myself with old episodes of grays anatomy and blockbuster rentals past due. I’ll flip through friends facebook halloween albums, live vicariously for a moment in the muted hysteria of a house party captured in a photograph. But when the pictures run out and rerun jokes are no longer funny I find myself sitting amidst the uneasy silence of my room feeling like I should be doing something. Possibly picking up the phone I find I have nothing to say, plotting out paragraphs for a personal statement I find I have nothing to write, studying for standardized test I find I don’t have the right answers.
Nights like this, I question what it is I have to offer this world, what I have to offer any one person. After falling for women with boyfriends, falling for women who decide they no longer want me as their boyfriend, rather be in another man’s arms, another man’s bed, I question what I have to offer. After failed LSATs and writers block I question law school and grad school goals. After my 20th job application with no call back, no email back, no sign of life on the other end of the digital phone of digital computer super highway I question what if anything do I have to offer, and would it be, will it ever be good enough for anyone, for me.
Nights like this. I have no answers to any questions I just stare back into the steaming mouth of a mug filled with green tea and honey, hover over the mixture letting the steam lick my tired half-open eyes and blink back tears.
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