Friday, April 16, 2010

Not Writing

I had this great idea.

I only have a part time job, right?  That was the idea.  I wanted to work part time, so I could write more.  The problem: I haven't been.  I haven't been writing for our Sunday School Writing Personal Histories class, I haven't been blogging more often than normal, and I certainly haven't been writing my stories.  Which--might I say again--was the idea, in the first place.

So I thought--I'll make myself.  I'll FORCE myself to do something productive for 8 hours of the day.  I'll go to work for 4, come back home and then spend 4 hours either editing pictures from my trip abroad so I can get a step closer to actually scrapbooking, OR I'll write.

'Lady Luck.doc' is open, but that's about as far as I've gotten.

I've decided it's because I don't have any motivation.  I told Rachel that I needed her to help me get motivated, but even though she asks every once and a while if I've written lately, it's not really helping.  I'm not sure if I've stopped writing because I got out of the habit while I was in London, because it just doesn't make me happy anymore, because I don't feel like there's anything to write about, or if it's really down to the motivation.  All worthy of some further digging.

But I know the answer, and I don't want to admit it because there's nothing I can do to fix it.  I need space--a desk preferably.  I need a place to spread out all of my papers, I need 8 hours unbothered, unquestioned, unstepped-over.  Then, once I'm in--I'm good.  I can keep going for hours, for days, for months--until its over or until I voluntarily leave.  It takes work.  I'm at home somewhat alone for 2-3 hours every afternoon (my Dad sits in the other room, relatively unheard and unseen), so I could start, but it's just hard because I know that in 2-3 hours I'll have to clean up.  And that's just not long enough.  That's not good enough.  I've been offered Caitlin's desk (but not by Caitlin, so what good is the offer, really?), but it's so small, and it's not mine.  I'd have to clean that up, too.

But I'm complaining, and what good has that ever done me?
Answer: None.

I need to get out.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Valentine's Day

I'm playing the song game with my sister.  Bruce Springsteen's "Valentine's Day" was my latest choice, and I wonder what it would be like to live in the world that the song sounds like.  It sounds like the 50s in the middle of a field of tall grasses, with the car radio playing just a few feet away--everything in that golden light that only lasts a few moments.

Caitlin said she hated that time of day, because it meant the day was ending.  It's one of my favorite times of day, because its sweet--and like everything sweet, it just can't last.  But you'll see it tomorrow, and the next day, and every day until the day you die.  And it's all right it doesn't last, and it's all right that its ending.  Everything ends, eventually.

I've come to realize that it doesn't bother me when things end, because I'd rather have the sweet memories of golden light than forever without change.  The sun overhead is bright, and it illuminates everything and it makes the world a beautiful place and it has its many uses, yes, but there is no mystery, there is no taste or smell to the day, there are no memories made.  When the sun sets, the earth cools off and the light breeze picks up, it seems that time slows down and everything is natural; and it feels like Springsteen's "Valentine's Day."
(Picture taken by Keith Vertanen)