I can't seem to write anything good anymore. I think it's because I've been in this awful, orange chaired waiting room for the past few months. Waiting to leave, waiting for my friends to come back, waiting for my relationship to fall apart or click together like some magnetic puzzle. I've been thinking backwards most days, back to when every minute was new and I wasn't sitting in bed wondering why my head hurts so much.
But I haven't been honest with myself. I know why my head hurts, and I know why I can't write. I made my own complacent prison. I'm here because I was too afraid to ask myself if I really did have things figured. And now I don't know how to leave. They say that Only you can change your life! but when you've just stirred from a waking dream, how do you find the time you lost staring at a screen?
This place isn't dark, but there isn't much light either. It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't feel good. It's a flat nothingness, like Nebraska on a gray spring day. I'm ready to hear thunder and see the sun, but I don't know how.
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Claire, I just want to let you know how much I love reading your blog. I don't know how much of it is autobiographical or what, but I know it it beautiful and it always hits a place in my heart that doesn't get hit often. Keep writing, girl. You've got something.
ReplyDeleteoh man, thanks so much! that's really nice to hear, especially since I've been battling some bad writer's block. Thank you!
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