Tag Archives: stuff

writer’s block

15 Aug

Spiteful words can hurt your feelings, but silence breaks your heart.”
– C.S Lewis

This blog is going to suck, as the title may have tipped you off. I’m feeling uninspired, a bit annoyed and just incredibly frustrated with myself. I haven’t written a poem in almost 3 months, at least not a decent one, every time I start to write any sort of prose it’s stupid and cliche, and just plain bad. Blogs are the only thing I’ve been writing, other than an all too personal letter that I just sent off without thinking twice (the letter is the cause of the frustration with myself). But writers, since some of you reading this must be writers, you know that awful feeling that is writer’s block.
To me, it’s like being sick. Due to the fact that I have a terrible immune system, I’m sick an awful lot, and it’s hell. I get chills, then I’m sweaty and hot and clammy and nasty. I have headaches, throat aches that make me want to cry and awful chest coughs that last far too long and disrupt any class I’m in at the time. Oh, and I get a runny nose. Writer’s block for me is quite similar. I start out at nice temperature, then things slowly get frostier and then things get warmer too fast and then I start tossing and turning, or in the writing sense, pressing the delete button, typing, delete, type. Symptoms of writer’s block also include headaches, but the sore throat comes in the form of wrist cramps, the chest cough a pinky that always locks up after being used for typing for too long. And the runny, gooey snot nose comes in the form of self-hatred and constant bullying from the voices in my head. (Some of them yell at me in German.)
Now, if that poorly executed metaphor didn’t tip you off to the fact that I’m creatively stifled, I don’t know what will. Photography hasn’t grasped my interest enough lately, not to mention my camera sucks/ is broken. Prose really isn’t working out too well, and I can’t organize my feelings to write a poem. But apparently my writer’s block could be put on hold to write a stupid letter. Stupid letter. gr. grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

WHERETHEDUCKSGO

I fail and other observations

3 Aug

“I’m just a curbside prophet with my hand in my pocket waiting for my rocket to come.”
– Jason Mraz “Curbside Prophet”

You, um, four people that read this, know that I fail at lots of things. For example, I failed EPICALLY at NaNoWriMo last year, I failed at finishing the 30 day letter challenge in 30 days and I failed at BEDA (April) last year, and now, where I fail at BEDA again. Part of it is laziness, part of it is that I have family here for a little while, then I have a wedding to go to… and enough excuses, but I just don’t have the drive, energy or time to write blogs every day. Not to mention that, as of late, I have been going back to being depressed and this blog would end up becoming my soapbox to whine about everything that is wrong with my life. This would a. reveal way too much about my life and b. just make my depression worse, something that I really do not need and something I do not want.
But moving on from my life as a colossal failure, I have a few things to update you on. I recently finished painting my room an absolutely gorgeous teal, which is the most ditzy sounding sentence this blog will contain, I promise. But the cleaning out, taping, priming, painting, painting again, painting again, ripping up of ugly orange carpet, and moving stuff back has beat the crap out of me. Staying awake is almost impossible, the only thing keeping me up is the fact that I am consuming a pornographic amount of sugar. I am also staying up because my cousins from California are in Bumfuck, Upstate New York visiting me for the first time in two years. This may surprise you, but there are attractive people in my family. My father, mother and I are not some of these people, but my cousins however are. My cousin Rachel is 14-years-old going on 17, tall, leggy, skinny, blonde and drop dead gorgeous with brown eyes and long lashes, along with a bubbly personality that actually fits the word “bubbly”. Alex, who is tall and skinny like his sister, has skater/emo hair, dresses like a beatnik/hippy without the beatnik but with lots of the hippy, and a simple, laid-back personality that I myself pretend I have. Admittedly, I was not thrilled about them coming here, thinking they were still the people they were two years ago, i.e, goody goodies.
I, clearly, am not the world’s most well-behaved child, and thankfully they are not the people they were two years ago. Rachel and I watch the same television shows and read the a lot of the same books, Alex and I watch the same types of movies and like a lot of the same music. I usually forget this, but every year we have a weird bond and we always get along. I guess that’s family at it’s best, something I don’t see nearly enough of.
Full of fail and dorkiness (along with being unnecessarily scatterbrained), this blog is done. You can go pee now. Or something.

WHERETHEDUCKSGO.

Day 17- Someone from your childhood

17 Jul

Dear Jacob,

Due to the power of the beautiful Facebook, I do know little snippets of what you are up to. First, since I moved, you have become the biggest man-whore EVER. I thought you should know, and I feel the need to address this because me, you know, Ms. Goody Two Shoes, is incredibly uncomfortable with it. Just kidding. But seriously, EVERY new profile picture of yours is with another beautiful girl, which, of course, does not surprise me by any means, but it’s funny how quickly things change. We went from breaking into the church playground (and the church itself, might I add) to you being a slutface and me being a, uh, not-so goody goody. I do remember, when we were much younger, swimming in the pool with Jesse, prior to his attempt at kissing me (yeah, uh, about that… you know now… after about 7 years. lolz). Also, our constant little schemes or attempts at being little badasses, like the aforementioned church breaking-in. Or when we would sit up on the red steel staircase, hidden from my house and yours, right above the road below, where you, Jesse and I would talk, or eat ice cream during the summer, or, after Jesse ran away (tail between his legs, might I add), you and I shouting “DON’T MOAN, CALL JOAN!” at cars.
Or one day, walking home from the bus stop, when you threw a CD at a passing car, and it hit a van, where we immediately broke into a run, like bandits, even though nothing was going to happen. Christ, you were around for EVERYTHING. You were more present in my life than my own brother. Hell, you are my brother, or at least you used to be. It sucks that after growing up together our entire lives, we lose contact because of three measly hours between us. I’m not saying this bother me like hell, but it does. I do indeed miss you, and maybe when I come to Connecticut this summer, we’ll go to Lake Compounce and cause some trouble… because isn’t that what we do now? 😉

Caitlyn