So I have been working very hard recently to amalgamate all my online writing into one space and back it all up. Though I have only been officially on wordpress for a short period of time you will see archives going back quite a ways. Some of it is pretty daft, but then I’m not altogether sane, either. 😉
What this project has prompted me to do is to go through some of the stuff in my old notebooks too. I was actually pretty good at the writing every day, even through the hell of the majority of 2001. It dropped off starting in 2005 with the advent of my online adventures and then petered out into writing only every now and then. When I do get to write I feel at home. I feel happy and in control and at the end of it all, sometimes there’s this feeling of.. contentment. I feel like I have accomplished something when I sit back ad see several pages of text. Of course using a pen has been a challenge for the last few months because when I use one for more than an hour my hand now cramps up. I just love how my body has begun to betray me. I wear a brace to sleep to prefect my wrist pain from becoming carpal tunnel, brought on my daily use of the computer both at work and at home.
But this should not stop me. I want to write more because feel happiest when I do it. I need to write more because the act allows me a small measure of clarity in that it allows my brain to sort through all the things I feel and see and don’t know how to process. I have never processed things as quickly as others unless it came to me in written form. Emotions and socially appropriate responses are things that I feel like I learned how to mimic as a survival technique. So writing about things that have happened is a way to fit them into my mental framework. A way to compact and process things into an orderly frame of reference. There are (obviously) still things I am struggling with – this s evident in my past journals as there are recurring themes everywhere, but now I feel like I am at a better point to deal with these things and maybe even make something of them. Make art of them. Because that is what art is for: for making the ugly beautiful, for communicating with the souls of others.
Or something like that. Heh, it’s cheap therapy. Catharsis on paper. Release.
Listening to: Bedroom Hymns – Florence + the Machine
Reading: Memory Palace – Mira Bartok
Words – 2360
Drinking: homemade pomegranate wine.