Without reading too much in to anything, I think I've got a bit of blockage. The thoughts are there...floating in my head. Banging to be free. But for some reason when I sit down to write them, they stall. Or some other shiny object flits in the corner of my periphery and draws my attention (and intention) elsewhere.
It's not the job. The job is going very well. And though there is a fair bit of mental fatigue by the time I come through the door for the evening, I don't think it's that. I could write at lunch (lord knows it was m.o. for months (years?)). So, I don't think it's work.
I'm pretty sure it's not finances. Most of the bills are caught up and the truly pressing ones should be OK once I call them to set up some kind of payment plan or something like that (probably ought to do that tomorrow). I'm not stressed about it. Things work out the way they need to and I know that these little annoyances are no exception. So...pretty sure that's not the blockage either.
I would love nothing more than to blame that little iPad mini keyboard case. OK...truth be told, there's a crapton of things I would like more than that. No, that's not it either.
While I have not been filling the blogosphere with my inane ramblings, I have been logging spent pages in the paper journal. So...I am doing some writing.
Maybe it's audience issues. Maybe it's actually advanced stages of Facebook withdrawal. Shaking the final throes of seeking (and in general) receiving instant gratification. I am a storyteller. A writer. Perhaps I feel that writing somewhere that only 5 of my friends (and parents, hi Mom...hi Dad) see with any regularity isn't feeding the soul.
I'd hate to think that level of shallowness has taken hold. That I can't feel as though I've put something out there unless 50 people that I wouldn't drink a beer with hit some imaginary LIKE button fraught with more emotional baggage than Cybil on a blind date.
Yeah...there's a few issues there. To the point where I created a new Twitter account (@atskaggs71 but more on that in a later post).
I don't know. Maybe it's that I haven't quite fully embraced this new life (that's not so very new anymore).
I guess it's a bit of a funk. I figured it was coming. Pockets of happiness. Pockets of melancholy. All needed in this backpack of my life. Ironically, the backpack of my life looks a lot like the perfect backpack I got last year for my New York trips.
What it really comes down to is needing a trip down to The Farm. And lucky for me, I'm going this weekend. I'll be able to let go and just talk to the Universe for a bit. And then...I'll listen. Listen with a stillness in my heart to what the Universe has to say to me.
I can't wait.
And with that, I head to Dreamland. I have a novel over that that I'm working on. As I get more written in Dreamland, I bring it back over here to this world. Dreamland is quite possibly the closest peace I have in my heart outside of The Farm.
I am thankful for the day when the peace in my heart spills over in to the waking world. In to every thing I see and do and every interaction and the day that I feel no more fear, only love.
That day will be awesome/is awesome/was truly awesome.
And with that, I'm off to bed.
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