I think I’ve run out of things to say. Or maybe I’ve forgotten how to say them. Have you guys noticed?
This blog is one of my greatest treasures. Like a best friend. Or a secret clubhouse. In the past, nothing was easier than opening my computer and just typing. And typing. And typing. About anything. About my fears. Or my excitement. Or even about a block of cheese, if the moment so deserved. I mean, take for example, the time it took me over 2,000 words to describe the beauty of a newly purchased rice cooker. It wasn’t excessive. Or difficult. I wanted to talk about a rice cooker for a while and so I did. Swells of writing came easy and came often. But lately, the thought of writing pages and pages of wordy mish-mosh has left me stagnate. I feel stuck before I even start.
Nothing is inspiring me to write and on most days, I wouldn’t even know how to write about it if there was something interesting to begin with. And this makes me feel guilty. A testament to the cliche ‘It’s not you; it’s me.’ I am also finding myself censoring myself. (That sounds like I’m over here writing Clockwork Orange or something…) (For the record, I am definitely not writing Clockwork Orange…) but it just feels like this vast unknown of the internet when it comes to my thoughts on life is scary. I mean, who really is reading this thing anyway? My mom (a given). A professor (I was totally kidding when I was complaining about you). A future boss (hire me?). A boy (call me?).
I read the other day that the best way to improve your writing skills is to write. And write. And write. And write. So, I suppose this is simply a slump in creativity or drive or maybe the want-to. But I think this is more than just writers block. I think things are changing for me. I want those changes to be collected and catalogued here. I just need to figure out the best way for me to do that now.
I think I’m thinking too much.