(no subject)
In high school, I called myself a writer. And it was true - you could hardly find me without pen in hand and I spent countless hours vomiting worthless stories onto my computer. Crappy writer though I was, I was indeed a writer.
Since then, though...
I feel less and less like a writer every day. More often than not, I don't write anything in a day, other than emails or - if I'm lucky - a piece of dry office correspondence for my supervisor. I take joy in what jocularity and originality I can utilize in emails to students or coworkers, but this is routinely stifled by the very unfortunate evil vibes of my workplace. When I get home, I'm sucked completely dry by the 8 hours I just spent wondering why the decision to move a file cabinet had to go all the way to the vice president provost for approval. I plop down on my couch and it's all I can do to pop in an episode of Friends while I pick through my decidedly small cabinets to find something for dinner.
Every now and then, I pick up my Writer's Block and look at a prompt, thinking how fun it would be sit down and write something. When I do put pen to paper, though, it seems like all inspiration is gone. I don't feel creative or witty or even the slightest bit excited about writing. Instead, I think of the dishes that need to be done or the pile of laundry that's grown so large, I'm sure it is one day going to eat my bedside table for a snack. When I was in high school, I had plenty of angst and large blocks of time on my hands.
Now, the angst has been replaced with bitterness and the large blocks of time have been replaced with dozens of unsavory responsibilities. I don't feel compelled to post long, winding blogs about my day or my current problems. I'd rather curl up on my couch with someone else's writing.
It's a problem I hope to overcome at some unforseen time. Perhaps this summer...
In the meantime, I continue to read at a nice galloping pace. My 50 books for the year are coming along well so far. I do need to read a few shorter ones and get some volume, but I'm not doing too shabby so far.
5 / 50
(10.0%)
Since then, though...
I feel less and less like a writer every day. More often than not, I don't write anything in a day, other than emails or - if I'm lucky - a piece of dry office correspondence for my supervisor. I take joy in what jocularity and originality I can utilize in emails to students or coworkers, but this is routinely stifled by the very unfortunate evil vibes of my workplace. When I get home, I'm sucked completely dry by the 8 hours I just spent wondering why the decision to move a file cabinet had to go all the way to the vice president provost for approval. I plop down on my couch and it's all I can do to pop in an episode of Friends while I pick through my decidedly small cabinets to find something for dinner.
Every now and then, I pick up my Writer's Block and look at a prompt, thinking how fun it would be sit down and write something. When I do put pen to paper, though, it seems like all inspiration is gone. I don't feel creative or witty or even the slightest bit excited about writing. Instead, I think of the dishes that need to be done or the pile of laundry that's grown so large, I'm sure it is one day going to eat my bedside table for a snack. When I was in high school, I had plenty of angst and large blocks of time on my hands.
Now, the angst has been replaced with bitterness and the large blocks of time have been replaced with dozens of unsavory responsibilities. I don't feel compelled to post long, winding blogs about my day or my current problems. I'd rather curl up on my couch with someone else's writing.
It's a problem I hope to overcome at some unforseen time. Perhaps this summer...
In the meantime, I continue to read at a nice galloping pace. My 50 books for the year are coming along well so far. I do need to read a few shorter ones and get some volume, but I'm not doing too shabby so far.
5 / 50
(10.0%)