Posts Tagged 'Writing'
I just like this:
Published December 29, 2011 Uncategorized 2 CommentsTags: Hemingway, Typewriter, Writing
I’ve already lost track of the days!
Published March 22, 2011 Uncategorized Leave a CommentTags: Flash fiction, Therapy, Writing
Actually, I just got confused. I never really get to sleep in anymore so I (half) woke up thinking to myself,
“Wait, it’s a sleep in day, which means it’s a…Saturday? No, that’s not right, I don’t have work! Spring break, no school, duh!” And just smiled at the luxury of it all.
Anyway, here’s another piece I had been working on. I’m being told that I’m pretty good at these “flash fiction” pieces! This is the second revision of this particular one, so far.
“Lost Earring”
The last time I saw him, I lost half of my favorite pair of earrings; a pair I had worn almost daily. Simple, reliable; they went with everything. I got compliments on them all of the time and they were only five bucks.
We were sitting on the couch, miles apart, when I realized it was missing. He insisted we look for it and began to tear pillows off of the couch. No big deal, I thought, I’ll find it later, but he was adamant. No luck. We settled back in, stealing side glances while facing the television, now even farther apart.
Half joking, but mostly serious I comment, “You’re the worst investment when it comes to romantic relationships.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I kept thinking about all of the places my earring could have fallen off—the car? The restaurant? Why hadn’t I heard it hit the floor? Maybe I had and didn’t think anything of it? Now my memory was falsifying details.
Later on he kissed me goodbye and I kissed him back for good measure.
I never found that earring.
You know I’m getting kind of worried, she doesn’t seem herself at all.
Published January 31, 2010 Uncategorized Leave a CommentTags: Crazy, Depression, Essays, Music, Poetry, Sad, San Francisco, Suffocation, Writing
Oftentimes when I sit at the computer to write a paper for school, I do so with the hope that the words, sentences, paragraphs will just spew forth from my brain and be translated by my fingers pecking away on a keyboard, forming intelligent thoughts, ideas and analyses, written eloquently, that will earn me that coveted A.
Of course, more often than not, this is never the case. There was one time over the last semester that I was able to bust out a four page paper in a little over two hours but it was on poetry and this particular poet spoke to me and I enjoyed taking the few poems I had selected and dissecting them stanza by stanza and line by line, much in the same way that I might a favorite song. Why can’t it always be that easy?
I’ve been stuck lately. I’ve hit a wall and I don’t know how to get over it, around it or break through it. It’s painful. It leaves me with no motivation, no inspiration and a crippling fear; I do everything I can to avoid sitting at the computer, staring a blank Word screen. Time ticks by and it’s still blank and there is still no inclination to write. But I am running out of time, as with writing school papers come deadlines. It’s starting to cause anxiety and maybe even depression. I’ve found myself sleeping more just to avoid even trying to get up and write. My motivation to do anything remotely productive is slowly but surely dwindling. All I keep wondering is why?
Sometimes I feel like I’m two different people. There’s the happy girl that’s always down, always laughing and can roll with the punches and then there is the one that’s quiet, a little melancholy, that gets lost in her thoughts and sometimes has a rough time getting back to Earth. These two are in a constant, delicate balance for the most part–a perfect limbo, but there are times that I seem to regress and instead of looking forward, I tend to look back. And rather than looking back in appreciation, I look back with a lachrymose longing. I look back on my former life as if it were a dream–and not one that I was ready to wake up from–and I miss so much about it. The wheels start turning and the memories start pouring down. To top it off, I’ve had those suffocated, trapped feelings once again. It can be a dangerous combination.
So does all of this make me crazy? I’m hoping it just makes me normal. It’s just part of growing up. It’s just… life. Right? I can’t be the strongest, happiest girl all of the time and for whatever reason, it pains me to admit that. I figure I just need to stay focused; although currently I’m having a hard time figuring out how to do so…
But as my dad would say to me, “It’d kill an ordinary girl.”