I wouldn't change a word

Lately I've been wondering if artists live the lives they do so they can create or if it is the other way around? People turn into artists because of the life they live? Writing is therapeutic, just as creating a painting, a song, trying to capture just the right scene in the space of a lens. I am beginning to write about the past three years. To sum it all up into whatever it was. It is always evolving, as am I. I am at the gap between living in water and on land. I am trying to figure out what my limits are, just how far I can really go. My god, it is frightening. But I want to write about it. I feel like I've forgotten how to write, but I think I just need to do and stop thinking so much. Sometimes it is not the act of writing but the sitting down, keyboard, fingers, brain and churning out sentences that are elementary at best, characters that are one sided, dialogue a pre-schooler could have scripted, to get to that part, the part I used to wake up in the middle of the night to write, the part I would dream up in the shower, while driving, while sitting in front of a screen writing because that was what I did everyday.

Now, after 3 years of new experiences, of lessons learned, of lessons not quite learned but experienced, I am ready to sit down, write a whole lot of bullshit to get to the meat, the tender, juicy parts. And hopefully, better metaphors.

I am trying to stay positive...

Really, I am. But today it is difficult, more than yesterday. I am cleaning and organizing, downsizing and now I reach the point where I am simply... frustrated. Frustrated at the hand I have been dealt. Frustrated that the walls in this house are empty, but that they are not my walls.

I feel stuck. Stuck as I will be here for another week and a half with nothing to do. Well, I will have things to do but no, not really. Things I have to invent to do. It is particularly my fault I'm stuck. I chose to continue to do the crew in Utah in September. Therefore, I can not start a job until October, so why look now? It makes sense but it doesn't. So yes, I am stuck but I stepped into the quick sand, knowing it would suck me back in.

I need something to occupy my mind. It was job hunting for awhile and then that faded when I realized I am looking too early. There are the other questions. Should I go ahead and book my ticket to San Francisco? Without a job? Or wait, until I get something? I am not quite sure.

I am unsure. I read this article, about 20 somethings, about how more and more are moving back home, taking longer to stabilize... like me. Like I am a case study, like I am just part of some growing movement, some second adolescence... Or first, in a way for me.

I am trying to let go. To let go of Scott, to let go of Craig, to let go of all of it, the past that doesn't matter that won't change.

So it does help to get this out, to no one. what is the difference between writing here and writing to someone, not expecting a reply? In the end, nothing I suppose. Nothing at all.