"You're gonna write today," my boyfriend sternly told me over the phone. "And you're gonna show me what you wrote when I get home or I will dirty up every single dish in the apartment."
A rather motivating threat right there.
I don't know what's wrong with me lately. Every time I sit down to write, nothing happens. I usually just end up browsing blogs for inspiration before ultimately calling it a day. And hating myself.
I've been hating myself for the last three hours, if not the last three weeks. The whole reason I wanted to quit my job was so I could write more - so I could pursue my "passion." But every time I have the opportunity, I don't do it. This is an indescribably frustrating thing for me, and that's precisely why I don't do it. Because I know I'm gonna sit down and try harder than I've ever needed to and that whatever I do write is gonna flop and I'm gonna spend the rest of the day wishing I was dead because I'm not really living anyway, right?
Yet here I am, writing something like I promised. I considered finishing a piece I started the other day, but decided it was way too personal to be published. I considered getting back to work on the novel I haven't touched in 6 months or that other book I haven't touched in 5. But no matter what, I always end up here. Right where I started when I was 19 and full of promise and certainty that this was my path in life. I feel safe here. I can be honest here.
I don't know what to tell you guys, and I especially don't know what to tell myself. Maybe my life is in a relatively good place right now and it's hard to find inspiration when I'm happy/comfortable. Maybe I'm distracted by bigger things like where I'll be working by the end of the year and my impending trip to see my brother, whom I haven't seen in three very long months. Maybe I need to try harder and dig deeper to find the stories that still need to be told. Maybe the only remotely noteworthy things that have been happening in my life lately are just too personal for anyone else's eyes, therefore I can't write about them.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. That's all I ever have to say for myself.
But at least I wrote something today.