Impossible distance between head and page
The times I think about writing are the times I cannot write. Usually walking or while riding the bus.
I can wax very poetic in my head, and no matter how hard I tell myself that I'll come home and get it down, I don't. I don't think this problem is uncommon or unique to myself, but I do feel like I've developed a particularly acute case of it, entangled as it is with my other issues and anxiety. It's, at this point, a less crippling variant of whatever headplague made it nearly impossible to actually write my thesis.
I'm trying to push through it, as you might have gathered. There was a time when I wrote LJ entries knowing that 90% of my friends would be sure to read them. That's... much less the case now. Some of them still check their friends page, of course, but most have moved on.
On the subject of friends, I begin to worry that I'm going to keep going through the same cycle for the rest of my life--build up a persona and a cadre of friends, set it all on fire and walk far, far away.
I know coming to Minnesota wasn't just me leaving everything behind (although it was that too), but even with Cameron and his family and longstanding desire to move in mind, it was still born out of the rut that I had gotten myself into. And that was me hiding from everything.
Not hiding now. I'm surprisingly social, given the versions of myself that so many former friends knew. I'm starting a book club at work, of all things. I go out drinking with coworkers. I assembled a D&D group of strangers at a random Meetup thing. Cameron sometimes remarks upon how much more social I am than he is. Still strikes me as strange, sometimes. I also seem to have developed a "strong work ethic"... my boss, Mary, used this phrase when asking if I'd be interested in a promotion, and it's stuck around in my brain ever since. I guess it's true, but like so many other things lately, I'm not sure where it came from.
I probably shouldn't delude myself into thinking my discomfort at personal chameleonishness is in any way unique. Even so, it pulls at me sometimes. Mostly at night, like now.
I can wax very poetic in my head, and no matter how hard I tell myself that I'll come home and get it down, I don't. I don't think this problem is uncommon or unique to myself, but I do feel like I've developed a particularly acute case of it, entangled as it is with my other issues and anxiety. It's, at this point, a less crippling variant of whatever headplague made it nearly impossible to actually write my thesis.
I'm trying to push through it, as you might have gathered. There was a time when I wrote LJ entries knowing that 90% of my friends would be sure to read them. That's... much less the case now. Some of them still check their friends page, of course, but most have moved on.
On the subject of friends, I begin to worry that I'm going to keep going through the same cycle for the rest of my life--build up a persona and a cadre of friends, set it all on fire and walk far, far away.
I know coming to Minnesota wasn't just me leaving everything behind (although it was that too), but even with Cameron and his family and longstanding desire to move in mind, it was still born out of the rut that I had gotten myself into. And that was me hiding from everything.
Not hiding now. I'm surprisingly social, given the versions of myself that so many former friends knew. I'm starting a book club at work, of all things. I go out drinking with coworkers. I assembled a D&D group of strangers at a random Meetup thing. Cameron sometimes remarks upon how much more social I am than he is. Still strikes me as strange, sometimes. I also seem to have developed a "strong work ethic"... my boss, Mary, used this phrase when asking if I'd be interested in a promotion, and it's stuck around in my brain ever since. I guess it's true, but like so many other things lately, I'm not sure where it came from.
I probably shouldn't delude myself into thinking my discomfort at personal chameleonishness is in any way unique. Even so, it pulls at me sometimes. Mostly at night, like now.