| "Hell is other people!" |
I don't really post in blogs much these days. In fact, I barely "post" in my free-writing journal anymore. Now, that "post" was in quotes for a reason, of course. It's a handwritten journal that I use for writing exercises. Basically, you close your eyes and write whatever you think in your head, regardless of spelling and grammar and even legibility, as long as you can read most of it. It's called "stream of consciousness writing", or something along those lines. I was hoping to be able to use some of the things I wrote as inspiration for some of my stories, but it seems pretty hopeless. All my thoughts are boring. Life is pretty boring. All I do is rant about dirty dishes and my roommate's things being scattered everywhere, and the occasional(or rather, frequent) rants about my teachers and some ridiculous art project or another. I'm at an art school, for goodness sakes. Shouldn't I be a little more interesting? Shouldn't I be able to find something and take it and make something amazing with it? My problems are petty, my friends' problems are petty, and there are bigger things going on in the world that a petty problem plagued person like myself could not possibly hope to solve, let alone a legion of petty problem plagued people. Try saying that fifty times fast.
It's because I appreciate the people around me that I haven't snapped from the sheer exhaustion of my lack of motivation. They want to do things and they do them. They can stand on their own feet properly. I know I can do the same, I know I have limitless potential, I know I'm not a total idiot. There are things in this world only I can accomplish, and stories that only I can tell. There are things I want to do, but I just can't seem to find my way to get them done. The problem is, I have everything there, in my mind, for myself to enjoy. I don't care enough to share all those things brewing in my mind with other people anymore. All I can do is stare at the blank canvas, knowing what I want to paint, but not really caring to get it started.
Maybe I'm just afraid that other people won't accept the stories in my mind, but even more so, I believe I'm afraid they'd change the stories. I want people to see what I see, but it's hard to do that when I can't see as clearly as I need to.
In other news, my best friend in NJ, Relick, talked about this play called "No Exit", where a bunch of dead souls are in a waiting room. It's supposedly very good, so I'm writing a reminder to myself to read it.:)Labels: General |
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Name: Trisha G.
Home: Find me in an evil lair somewhere in New Jersey.
About Me: I like doodling and cake. Oh, and smoked cheese, too.:3
See my profile...
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