I was almost going to say that today is Saturday and I take weekends off blogging. I'm sure for a "true writer," that would break some kind of golden code that says "you must write everyday! EVERYDAY!" but, oh well. If I am not a true writer, as I have suspected all along, then it's just not in the cards.
But then I thought of a topic: Writing. I am growing to think that perhaps I can be a good writer, if I could actually find some sort of fixing point so that I could then stay ON point.
My life is nothing but phases. For a period of time I am interested in a new hobby and then it just goes away.
I used to journal. I did that for the longest phase, but it was really before my bipolar-i-ness had really kicked in to high gear, so I journaled for most of my youth. I have a whole 2 weeks in Germany journaled. I can pick up that little book and, there is the weird dinner pitas we made by shaving an enormous meat stick, durna (sp?), I think it's called. Anyhow, it's all in there. Pages about what we did, names of places we went, the bike rides getting there, the gorgeous towns, all the things I have forgotten, but loved, are there for me to sit and visit with like an old foreign friend (shout out to Martin! I miss you man!). I still write a sort of "journal entry" now and again. I just write them on my computer and address them to my cousin. He and I were supposed to have been better friends. I think I missed out on something awesome, but he's gone, so I guess it's my way of trying to make up for it. If you've ever had something you couldn't really explain to anyone, but you needed to talk about it, writing it out really helped me through some super manic times. "Letters I've written, never meaning to send." I think that's what that composer was talking about. Sometimes writing letters to people we wish we could talk to empties us of a little heartbreak. Good therapy. I guess that's why it's been with me the longest. But even in writing, I have a bad habit of starting a story and then just leaving it, unable to go back and continue. I'm sure I could, if I was made to, but maybe it's the being in school. Maybe I don't have time. But with everything else I've begun, I've given it up. Painting, I was good, could of gotten better, but I painted 3 semi-ok paintings and then, nada. I started a playhouse for my daughter and it's almost finished. It should have been finished. I got real into wood work and building things and then, I just stopped being interested. (That really needs to get done! There's a pile of wood in our backyard that needs to go somewhere!)
I used to wish that my emotions would just settle somewhere, anywhere, but to stop changing up on me all the fuckin time (now I'm medicated so it's all cool!). But I would love to hold on to this inspiration to write. I just don't know how! Anyone dealing with the same thing? This used to be a topic no one talked about, but now, being crazy is cool, my my, how time flies! I just hope we're flying into a more accepting, aware, and disgusted by ignorance time for the human race. But that's never how it will be is it? I dreamt of a war going on between the species. I heard a panthers thoughts before I killed her, she didn't want to be fighting any more than I did, it was those in charge who made us all fight. Sound familiar? Silly dream, but it shows I've been thinking about how much men still crave control over everything, even if it's impossible, and they'll use anyone they can to make it happen.
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