Flailing, Failing My Muse

Flailing, Failing My Muse

And just like that it’s gone. The thoughts the inspiration the desire the motivation to write my thoughts to reminisce to put in motion the first step in one of many big big plans is gone. The loud music in the car bringing me to tears the compulsion to jot it down to get one step closer to the goal is gone.  I just want to lay in bed and watch another episode of Star Trek the Next Generation, one I’ve seen many times before and just be satisfied with someone else’s writing, someone else’s ideas, someone else’s desires, someone else’s thoughts I wish. I think of them as my friends, as a group of people, the kinds of people I wish I had in my life but don’t. 

My social life is Facebook. I wish for a group of people wanting to take me out for my birthday or a group that wouldn’t miss coming over to my house for a birthday party for me. But I am not a good friend to anyone so do not deserve such.  I’d like to write a short story about one student night at Rock City. Those nights in Nottingham were some of the most fun nights of my life. I was the person I had dreamed of being, and I liked what that place and my friends who went with me brought out in me. 

I try not to dwell on the fact that I live in this “suburbland” vortex I swore to leave and never return to. It’s not a bad place but not the place I want to be. I don’t reject it because the here and now is what I have and must embrace it. But I need it to be temporary. 

I think about all I want to accomplish and juggle and how I’ve taken the first step towards many of those goals but never go back to take the second. It’s just like my writing. One step, never to return. Never to do anything about it. I’m tired and I imagine, “Oh, I’ll go to bed now and wake up early and work on some things. But I won’t. I have this conversation with myself over and over and over and over again but end up back here.  

If only this might help someone or be of slight amusement it might be worth something...it’s just the cycle I keep on full force. I need inspiration I tell myself, I need time, I need this, no I just need to work on it but I don’t. I make slight progress but nothing, nothing significant. I’m stuck here because I choose to be, and that is depressing. But I don’t want to let myself get depressed but I don’t want to delude myself. 

What is it? It is in the late nights I think, but I’m so exhausted, I’m not thinking well, I just want to shut down, but then I lie in bed and wallow in the what if and what I want to do and then I don’t get enough sleep before I’m woken up and need to attend to the requirements of the day. 

Wasted wasted wasted decade doing nothing to get to where I want to be. 

Dreaming only dreaming, believing it was enough to just want something badly and not doing anything about it. 

Now I scramble between desires and make no significant progress. Not uninspired but lazy. Unfocused on the lack of result instead of focusing on what I am doing. Now I feel like I want to lie down and stare at an electronic device and just daydream about how great I can be. I’m so tired of having this conversation with myself and even more tired about writing about this conversation with myself, but I’m stuck. I’m stuck and will seek some exotic trigger to get all this inspiration organized into a plan of action and, possibly find one, and repeat this all over again.