Creative Confusion

Well that and the fact that it obviously persists in your subconscious forcing you to better yourself so that you can have more options. More. More. More.

Some more pretty stuffalus, I'm afraid I don't need

I have ordered yet another tea pot, from For Life. Because most of my life has been built on the things I think I need. In my defense, I’ve wanted this color, style, and stainless steel tea infusing mechanism for quite some time, but still, it was not a need.

On my quest to better myself, I’ve found the things I cannot stop thinking of inadvertently always have to do with a quest for something higher. The promise to make me better. I refuse to become this person that isn’t inspired. So much as so when someone asks what I’ve been up to I shrug and say “o just remodeling the inner beings of my kitchen cabinets, re-purposing notations on a new essay about why names matter more than cleverness, accomplishments, and confidence, while fitting in a new transformation of self, feeding my puppy treats and teaching her not to have anxiety attacks while I’m on the phone with a new **like interest** and having a contemplative discussion with my imagination about how I might get eleven loads of laundry folded up before Saturday morning, you know usual stuff.”

"You can borrow my pencil," "But I don't need a pencil"

I’m in my head a little. I’m in my head a lot. See? Quests for more. Must divy up collective thoughts. Piece together new algorithms to have better timing. I get tired of things too easily. I’ve written a few things away. I’m a talk-a-holic, and collectively a good listener if I value what you’re saying if you’re making good sense. I want to hand a few people a Shut The Fuck Up pencil. Tell them to go write it all down. List life.

So, what do I think about you don’t ask? Well…

1. Time management opportunities/worries and harps on failures and rejections—another essay? Shout out to Yuvi Zalkow, <3
2. Chik-fil-A
3. Finishing the six writing jobs I have in queue
4. Memoir revisions, err, draft three, might as well be draft 3,245
5. All these expectations. What happened to my jumbo dreamscape—backdrop the glass windows and book-covered wall décor? Please don’t tell me I’ve subconsciously given up? (cue more worry)

WTF, figure out your life.

Perhaps one might make their lists on some WTF post-its. I dunno. Just a thought. I’m still having nightmares. This time, they involve excessive amounts of exercise, this scary lady I used to know when I was a kid—and her murdering her husband in a bathtub (too much SVU, maybe?) and me sans Julia, as her character living the movie “Runaway Bride.”

Must force myself to annotate book, re-wire my thinking, and love how far I’ve come.

Must take my time, delight in the fascinations and intrigues of humanity, the entertainment and multitudes I’ve yet to find of my experiences, and the temporary vagueness of this post for lack of what I call nonfictionary-braveness.

Must compete with spellbinding originals to be myself in all walks and waylays. Must figure out how to have more belief in things again. Think with me.

And now for my usual awful and sentimental ending that makes you feel like you read something that was worth wasting a few minutes of your life… this is what I’m striving for, why I’m bettering myself, why individuals who don’t contribute to the betterment of my own economy-(lol)-need to take a shut the fuck up pencil and a WTF post it, and go think about something.

I sure do.

“It is possible to be honest every day. It is possible to live so that others can trust us-can trust our words, our motives, and our actions. Our examples are vital to those who sit at our feet as well as those who watch from a distance. Our own constant self-improvement will become as a polar star to those within our individual spheres of influence. They will remember longer what they saw in us than what they heard from us. Our attitude, our point of view, can make a tremendous difference.”

—Gordon B. Hinckley, Standing for Something