Blanche Devereaux

I feel like I should be creating. I find myself writing little blurbs in my phone or on my computer; opening up text documents and letting a few words flow. But then I stop myself. I wonder why. I am reminded of similar goings on that took place on an episode of The Golden Girls not too long ago. I remember Blanche was having trouble writing something or other and something happened and then everyone laughed before raising their arms in triumph over the evils of osteoporosis. I can't decide if that means I need to find some personal evil to vanquish or if I am sorely in need of guidance from a gaggle of gray-haired women.

I think the problem is that I know exactly what it is I am up to at the moment and exactly what it is I am feeling. Previously when I wrote anything of substance that was my weird sort of fusion of prose and poetry (Prosetry?) I was ass-deep in contemplation. Contemplating life and love and this and that. But I'm all stopped up. I think my continuing hiatus from writing ANYTHING is behind all of this. I keep letting myself not write in my blog, then when I try to express myself via text I have to remember what my voice reads like. It's coming back to me in booms and bursts, but I would like to get to the mega-explosion at the end. For the most part I write the way I speak. That is why I am a no good poet by dictionary definition. I'd say it's more of a rhythmic and lyrical free flowing uncensored thought process that breaks and builds with every press and pause my fingertips take.

I may or may not be sabotaging myself. That's okay. I'm up for a little reconnaissance and espionage work.

I've actually come up to a few conclusions after writing those sentences as to why I do the things I do, why I am the person I am, and how I need to make these things change. So... in essence I really am sabotaging myself. It hits on the same notes as yesterday's post. Is it self preservation or outright selfishness? I'm fairly certain you can't have one without the other but I'm certain you can have too much of one or both. I think I am starving myself from the sort of attention I really want (read: don't need) in some useless attempt to quell said desire for said attention. But in acknowledging the fact that I don't need this attention it has become quite clear to me that I do need it. As I said at the start of this post I feel like I should be creating things. I feel like I should be creating things that garner the sort of attention I am lacking. What is that? i don't know. I want to be appreciated for being familiar and special in a human and obsequious way. I want to be able to write things that mean something to everyone, but not tons to anyone. I would like to be able to express myself without fear of exposing a nerve and letting my subconscious bleed out. It's hard. Hard to break free of. Hard to explain, really. Hard nonetheless.

And that is why I didn't write.
I didn't write to keep the peace.
But I've missed it and I need it.
I suppose this is when I decide that each keystroke will save my life.