I Fibbed, it's Cuter than Lying


If you saw my last post, I've sworn all this off for a while. And that was wrong. After teetering on this since I swore I wasn't going to write anymore, I can't not write. I get frustrated, I get annoyed, but I love it, and I can't be without it. I just need to find a human being that does something similar for me (and vice versa) and I'd be all set (oh and paying off student loans wouldn't hurt, either).

The topic of love, and how that incorporates into life, has been one of choice lately. There are all kinds of love, the love you have for your best friend, the kind you have for your senile father, your dog, a city, etc. But there is one kind of love that is different, the love you have for that One other person. I don't know how it's different; like I can't put it into words. I know you can't be without it, but you don't want to be without your friends or your obnoxiously colored rain boots you love either. Maybe it's just at a larger caliber? After several conversations with a few close friends, I still can't articulate something reasonable. Now, keep in mind, I'm a writer/English major, I (poorly) attempt to make art out of words. When I can't do that, I get rather pissed.

So ironically, with the love/hate relationship I have with figuring shit out with writing, I've been obsessing over this topic. I'm not here to rationalize this issue of love either; I don't want to play with fire. I'm kinda understanding that some things aren't meant to be understood. I guess some things aren't meant for the word, and only for the heart. Which is disappointing from a writer's perspective, but I think that's why so many of us are romantics. We can't conceive of this concept by writing about it, we can only feel it, and even after writing about it from experience, no word can ever do it justice. But we always try and we're always striving for more love and beauty in things so we can learn and write more.

It's kind of an adventure. Even if some days, you're just irritated with this so called "adventure", you're still going to get out of bed and see where it takes you; I've seen very few people truly give up. I love writing but some days I wish we were all mutes and language was never invented. But our emotions, our hearts would still exist, we use the language to represent these kinds of ideas (just ask John Locke), which creates this kind of hierarchy of our hearts and then words. The emotion/love takes precedence. Which tells me that you can't hide from that, and at the end of the day you have a choice to either skew the truth (or worst case scenario you just lie to yourself), or you can be brave, and follow your heart and let the words follow after. Or maybe in this case, you don't need them at all. It's kind of like the end of Back to the Future Part II when Marty asks Doc if they'll have a long enough stretch of road to reach 88 mph. Doc replies, "Where we're going, you don't need roads".

A Whirlwind of Writer's Block

I really just can't write anymore.

This scares me, this is something I've always loved to do and all of a sudden, I've lost interest. Maybe I'm just sick of writing about life and finding answers. Maybe I'm sick of looking. I've always used writing as an outlet, to look for answers. All of a sudden, I have no interest in answers.

Although this is terrifying, it is also very freeing. Real answers can never be found with some articulate epiphany. I don't even know what a "real answer" is. And attempting to define it is fruitless. As an English major, and an intense basket case, I've lived the past years creating outlines, producing papers, and receiving grades. I think subconsciously, I hide in that and use that as a guide to life; introduction, body, conclusion, grade, done. Move on to the next story. Do you have something similar? I don't want to get lost in stories anymore, I want my own.

The collected chaos of life has kind of stopped, stared me in the face, and proceeded to bite me in the ass as of late. I can't collect the chaos anymore, it's taken on a life of it's own. And I'm thinking that means I have to as well.

As much as I hate admitting this, the blog has turned into my personal journal that isn't so personal anymore. Writing about all the chaos rationalizes it for me, it outlines it and then I can be done with it. Like I said, I'm sick of writing about it. You can't write your story and live it at the same time. So I think this is farewell for now, I very much look forward to the day I don't need to rationalize everything, and I can write uninhibited and it can be enjoyable again. Until then.