In the Mirror
So I've felt a bit of a traitor these last few months. I abandoned this LiveJournal, purposefully, for once, and created a new one. I attempted to re-create the relationship that I previously had with this journal... and I failed miserably.
I have felt so out-of-touch with my writing over this past year or so. So much of my time is spent knee-deep in business reports and accounting standards and it is difficult to pull myself back out of all of that long enough to put myself on paper again. I know that perhaps it will be easier once I have the exam behind me but... I hate to wait.
The different jump-starts and half-desperate rescue attempts I have made have, for the most part, been inherently flawed. I have been searching for something outside of myself to pull me out of my funk (this is a typically American response, I think). A different LiveJournal, a different paper journal, a new book (my collection has grown considerably in the last few months as my loving husband as gladly helped me carry them to the counter at Borders). I grasp at these things and seek some sort of redemption but I have not found it.
I read in a way unlike I have ever read before - I devour books, 500 pages at a time. On 'lazy' weekends I can read a stack of six or seven and still want more time to spend curled in the corner of my office in my favorite chair. (This in and of itself is not new but the impulse, the almost frantic desperation with which I do it is definitely new.)
And what I have realized is that this is my way of doing something without doing anything at all. I return to myself as I read but it does not require anything of me - I do not have to create, I do not have to suffer at the Great Wall that is my writer's block. I do not have to fail.
Probably also a typically American response, eh?
I have felt so out-of-touch with my writing over this past year or so. So much of my time is spent knee-deep in business reports and accounting standards and it is difficult to pull myself back out of all of that long enough to put myself on paper again. I know that perhaps it will be easier once I have the exam behind me but... I hate to wait.
The different jump-starts and half-desperate rescue attempts I have made have, for the most part, been inherently flawed. I have been searching for something outside of myself to pull me out of my funk (this is a typically American response, I think). A different LiveJournal, a different paper journal, a new book (my collection has grown considerably in the last few months as my loving husband as gladly helped me carry them to the counter at Borders). I grasp at these things and seek some sort of redemption but I have not found it.
I read in a way unlike I have ever read before - I devour books, 500 pages at a time. On 'lazy' weekends I can read a stack of six or seven and still want more time to spend curled in the corner of my office in my favorite chair. (This in and of itself is not new but the impulse, the almost frantic desperation with which I do it is definitely new.)
And what I have realized is that this is my way of doing something without doing anything at all. I return to myself as I read but it does not require anything of me - I do not have to create, I do not have to suffer at the Great Wall that is my writer's block. I do not have to fail.
Probably also a typically American response, eh?