creative rut

Yeah obviously I’ve been in a writing rut just look at how long it’s been since I wrote something here. And here’s how I feel about it. A lightly edited stream of consciousness.

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Ugh. I feel a bit like I’m in a dream state lately. Wondering when I’ll wake up and try to make sense of everything going on in my mind. To write about it. Translate it through paint. Something. Anything. And yet I know I probably could put it into words despite my best attempts. Such is the curse—and beauty—of a dream.

This “dream” itself is not bad. In fact, there are all kinds of little creative sparks all over the place. But it feels disorienting. I suppose if I dreamed for too long during sleep I’d wake up particularly confused.

I’ve been in a fairly creative and “productive” state with regard to my “day job.” Yet despite those successes I feel an incompleteness in my days. Like my creating of something, anything, cohesive (raw and outside of obligation) is a vital supplement I’m lacking. It’s if I’m eating citrus without vitamin C in it. The assemblages of a good day are all there, yet something is inexplicably missing. I won’t die of mental scurvy right away, but my body’s reserves are depleting and I need to replenish it soon.

I want to create, and yet I feel incapable. I’ve been fishing for and reeling in ideas. Putting some of them together, yet another thousand pieces of the puzzle are still sitting in the bag. I feel so impossibly far from having something complete ready to put out into the world.

It remains bizarre to me that I put this kind of pressure on myself. This time I will remember that I need to breathe. Remember that I don’t have to produce on a fixed timeline. I need to use this opportunity to constant self criticism.

Something will surely splash water on my face soon and wake me up. I will continue to paddle the boat through my consciousness until the fog clears and an I can see an island, no matter the size, on which to spread out and build.