Writing to Write

I started this blog to document my travels.

Along the way it turned into something else.

My ex found it. Started reading it fairly regularly.

My posts became more and more about communicating with her.

Cause there was no other way.

And I couldn’t let go.

She’s stopped looking though.

It’s just me and my words again.

No particular audience.

God wears pajamas.

A funny little maxim.

I’m not sure what it means but it sure has a nice ring to it.

This has been a hard 365 days for me.

I didn’t get into the grad schools to which I applied — upon which I banked my future.

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, they say.

But I did anyways.

I thought I was good enough.

I thought I had the grapes.

Apparently not.

So here I am — nearly a year out from the most difficult period of my life.

And I feel… less than motivated.

Sad, but not really driven to do much about it.

My knee is messed up, cause I fell on my longboard.

So I’m in bed.

And I’ve got all this time on my hands.

And I really don’t want to be doing this.

Because it’s boring.

It’s not worth saying.

I started writing again last year because I had nothing to hold onto.

I thought if I just clung to my singular passion I’d be okay.

And for a time I was. I had my writing. I had my jokes. My absurdities.

I wrote for no other reason than to make myself laugh.

Now, I don’t have that drive.

Writing is a chore.

Being a writer is a chore.

I don’t want this life.

This body.

This mind.

This gift.

My whole life people said, “Oh Zoey you’re so smart and gifted. You have so much potential. You can do great things.”

Well maybe I don’t want to.

And for the faint of heart, please excuse me but maybe I don’t want to live at all.

Except… I’m too scared to ever do something so drastic.

So I’m just… here.

Waiting for something, rather than conjuring my own magic.

I’m not even sure I believe in magic anymore.

Or number sequences.

Or angels.

Or twin flames.

But without those things, what is this mundane existence?

Where does the gold lie?

My first thought is, in people.

In stepping outside myself and giving my love and attention to my family, friends, and community.

Doing something for others.

Bleh. Meh. Gleh.

Whatever.

The Shaman fed Anna a pie with poison in it.

She died happily ever after.

The end.

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3 thoughts on “Writing to Write

  1. Oh darling, I’m happy to be your ‘no particular audience’. Even though I don’t always comment, I read and love every word. So if it helps, write with my silly face and Peter’s goofy smile in your mind :o)

    Every creative soul goes through what you’re going through right now (I know that doesn’t help, but it’s true). I have spent many days of nothing, just thinking ‘sod it all’. But you have a fire in your belly, even if the flame is low sometimes. And it will spark up again when you’re ready. Until then, just be gentle with yourself, rest, get well soon and remember that you are so very loved.

    We love you!

    J, P and the mogs in Italia xXx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Juls I love you and miss you and Mr. Staveley a ton. It means a lot that you read my stuff. You know how I hard I am on my creative process. I appreciate your words of encouragement cause I get stuck in my own vacuum a little too much. ❤ ❤

      Like

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