some days i feel as though i have absolutely nothing to say about anything. ridiculous, i know. i have a job and friends and a good life. i live in a beautiful area with lots of interesting places to explore. i have elaborate vivid dreams every night of my life, which i’m told is the crazy coming out, so you’d think that i would have something to write about, but here i sit hoping something will click any minute and wonderful things will start pouring forth from my fingers onto the page. waiting…still waiting…
i haven’t done my morning pages in years and years, mostly because i got too caught up in the minutiae of the day straight out of bed. i understood the reason for writing everything in my head immediately upon waking, but didn’t think i could accomplish anything until i’d had my coffee, and i might as well shower and get dressed and go to the coffee shop so i’d have a spot to write, but then i’d be late to work so i would decide to do it later. all of the everyday nonsense interfered with the whole reason for doing the morning pages: the idea is to get all of that flotsam and jetsam out of the way so that the writing is purer, unfettered by to-do lists and worries from the day before or the day to come. “clear your mind and the rest will follow…”
perhaps i should try stream of consciousness writing. i have what feels like a tangled pile of yarn in my head, a mess of thoughts that need to be sorted out and used for some good purpose. i just don’t have the patience for separating my thoughts like i do for detangling the beautiful cashmere yarn that i stuffed into a bag in a closet after giving up on a delicate lace knitting project.
maybe this old dog can learn a new trick or two. practice makes better. it takes two weeks to cement a new habit. leap and the net will appear. don’t give up the ship. come on in, the water’s fine!