south of repose

I used to know a lot better what I was thinking. You know when something specific is on your mind and  you can't shake it for days or weeks? It might have been heartache. It might have been the bleakness of money worries. It might have been the excitement that spring was coming. Whatever it was I knew what it was. I was unavoidably aware of what was carving deep grooves in my synapses hour after hour. Somehow now if I try for a quick pause to take stock I'm all static. Priorities disintegrate and only a numbness is left where creativity and thought once were.

Can I blame this on Twitter?

There's a lot to face this year and I think this mental time-out situation is the first thing. I'm a little bit tired of tracking my progress and rehashing old periods of my life and comparing them to the present. I'd like maybe to sit here for a moment and collect myself and recognize that this is what's become of me as a result of everything that's ever happened and, once that's clicked, move on.

One of the main reasons I want to load myself down with reading (see previous post) is to make a lot less time for other things that just tend to painlessly distract me. I haven't let go of any of my many aspirations of the past decade and, if anything, the list is growing. The lack of progress is really eating at me and holding me down. Although I've been busy enough chipping away at things I'm realizing that this speed just isn't fast enough. I really don't know why creative work is so hard for some and comes so much more naturally for others. I should stop asking the question.