Oddly enough, I don’t browse the web. I don’t readdit. I don’t tumble. I don’t tweet. I Facespace, but not anything hardcore; certainly don’t get into long discussions or arguments. Most of the URLs I visit are contained in my browser’s New Tab page (the one with all the site thumbnails). I’m not terribly well-read.
Why? Because I have this guilty sense that I’m supposed to be doing something more important, like these browsing sessions are a distraction preventing me from knuckling down into a project, task, story, whatever. When I’m into those activity zones, I’m dead to the world; the sky could come crashing down, but I won’t notice until I look up and see 200 notifications and statuses and comments and…and…and.
I guess it’s a leftover from working so many jobs where I must not let the boss catch me fucking off. I’ve had too many of those, so when I’m supposed to be doing a thing, I flee from the obvious distractions and distract myself instead with the low-value, low-quality wastes of time where I am able to keep my eye open for the bossman.
Makes sense, but only when I’m at work. Play time? Makes no sense at all. Trying to follow along is just mentally draining and takes my time away, I suppose, but it’s my time to spend, right?
So here I am, typing up a quick note to distract myself from anything that would put me into a better place in life. It’s all those little people of Lilliput that kept Gulliver down.
I’m thinking I need to sign up for some sort of creative writing class. I mean, sure, I like to write, and I think I’m fine at it, but I want to be more together with it, more regular, more devoted, more productive. Y’know? Something to knock me out of my doldrums.
See, I don’t do well when left to my own devices. I need a regimen, a schedule, a habit, a hobby. Y’know? So if I was in a class, or a writing group, I’d be more with-it. Seems the only time I write creatively is to rise to the challenge. My previous short, “To Dust“, was written for an anthology I was invited to join; I had a deadline. I finished the first draft in a hard week or writing, finished the second and final drafts the next week. I rose to that challenge and wrote a good piece.
But that was over a year ago. I haven’t written anything since. I need motivation; I need a pitchfork in my back. Y’know?
The Austin Library has a Write Club class that meets every month for a few hours; thinking about joining along, see what’s up. Can’t hurt, right? I need to get more involved my hobby. Something. Something.
I can’t keep going on like this. Those of you who know me know that I’m not one for airing out my dirty laundry, but I’m in pain. Death is not the worst outcome…an empty life is much worse. I keep wondering what will finally cause me to break inside, what it will take to snap my mind in two. How far until I’m one of the hollow shells standing at the intersection holding a sign declaring my descent. Hungry. Anything helps. God bless.
It is through the humble, earthy flavor of black-eyed peas and cornbread that we learn the lesson of prosperity. Don’t forget your roots.
May we all prosper in 2016!