Stream of Consciousness
My eyes hurt and I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. My mind races with thoughts of nonsense that do me no good. I don’t understand how there could be such a barrage of impending nothing when there is nothing going on in my life other than the preoccupation of being unable to write a blog. A blog, for God’s sake! It doesn’t need to be important or earth-shattering, but when I think it through I change my mind. These entries are a part of my entre into the publishing world. I have to approach them seriously if I expect to gain credibility as an author. Every entry now needs to be significant in some way. This doesn’t mean hard-hitting journalism, but it has to be useful to the reader. See, this is ridiculous because just as I was starting to enjoy writing without effort and a certain sense of fun, my mind jumped ahead and started making plans, putting a framework around the nothing in an effort to corral it into something. Now the words are forming a bit slower, the ideas have to be hunted down rather than allowed to reveal themselves spontaneously. My head begins to throb and I’m back inside my body trying to write something meaningful, crossing out words that perhaps aren’t the best choice. I’m struggling now when less than five minutes ago I was starting to catch fire. I am sad. I am empty. And so I wait for the magic to come find me again and free me from the constraints I put upon my own self. There is resignation and regret as I close my eyes and start over again.
