Just Start Writing.
I need to start writing more. I need to go back to the fundamentals of recording my life. There is something fundamentally sound about keeping a record that enables one to go back, re-read prior posts, nod in concurrence, and exclaim, "This guy really gets it!" I think that's the surest sign that you're writing for yourself and not someone else.
Well, to reach that point again you must first write and that means writing both when you have something and more often than not nothing to say. These past weeks months years? mark a strange transformation in which I've found so little to say that it didn't make much sense to log it in a journal (or did it?). It's often easy to put an interesting spin on the mundane - that is when you notice and think critically about the mundane. Unfortunately so much of my creative talent has been cast towards fruitless evanescing endeavors which have led to disappointment and waste. Rather than think creatively, or change, the mundane, I spent my time staring into digital escapes pretending the mundane didn't exist.
The past months years, have been marked by the sin of drifting - as Napoleon hill would call it. So much drifting has occurred that I often spend much of the witching hour contemplating how I ended up in this particular house, town, and life situation. Napoleon was correct when he stated how impactful fear is in controlling one's behavior, outlook, soul... Fear is something I know quite well.
I suppose it's easy to go back and connect event A to event B, which led to event C but I easily tire of such an exercise that, even if resolved, doesn't change much. I find it ever more important to keep a solid mind and avoid the anxiety ridden trail of 'what-if', though that's easier said than done. This era is marked by isolation which is fuel for the anxiety exhausted mind. To combat this I've embarked on guided meditation and melatonin. Neither effort is entirely successful, instead I often worry myself to exhaustion which leads to a restful sleep the following night. The guided meditations are questionable in their effectiveness, or rather my ability to follow the meditations is severely lacking, while the melatonin often digs up the echoes and reflections of memories long forgotten.
It's in the reflection and echoes of memories that I can distinguish the multiple lives I've lived. The dreams also provide evidence of a time when I did live and was fully alive - not troddening through the mundane existence of Groundhog Day. The characters of my life played out vividly in their complexity and depth - rivaling the characters of any novel or movie. In dreams they return even more brilliant and dramatic, often losing their faults and expounding in depth upon that particular trait that made them novel. /Bcky always keeps her elegance and femininity but loses the prudish, emotionally distant nature, I came to know. [This is where the author continues to artfully attribute romantic characteristics to past friends relationships acquaintances people but stops as obsessing over the past squashes and overrides the benefit of artistic prose.]
Goodnight.