Coming Out Swinging

"Self-disgust is self-obsession, honey, and I do as I please."

Hard to breathe today. The air seems thin and empty, and the lungs overcompensate. It's like being at altitude. God, I'd like to be high right now. I'd like to be drunk. I'd even settle for a simple nicotine rush. I have none of these things, and no money to buy them with. I appear to have officially hit the wall. Relax, friends, it's a good thing. I am lazy and unmotivated when it comes to the world out there. Ultimately, I have no desire to be back outside at all. It'd be nice to go drinking with my friends once in a while, but it's not like I'd die if I had to sit in here with my JD and my cigarettes night after night. The only downside would be that my writing would suffer. I need experience to drive my creativity along sometimes, and there's little to be had staring at the same four walls.

It'll be my addictions that get me out of this rut. I need money now. I didn't before, and that was the key difference. I didn't require a job, so I wasn't trying too hard to get one. Now...man, I'd slay children for a cigarette.

I didn't leave the house today. I couldn't face the sun, the anonymous faces, my shadow. One of those days when you feel borderline hysterical all the time, forever teetering on the edge of laughter or tears. I'm considering adding agorophobia to the list of psychosomatic illnesses I've displayed symptoms of in the past two months.

I've been wanting to write, but I'm lacking in creative energy. I sat on my bed for almost two hours this afternoon, staring blame across the room at the computer. I have come out with some pieces I'm really happy with recently (notably Collect Call To An Unknown Lover), but it's all poetic. I'm doing a lot of vivid imagery, invoking a lot of nostalgia and frustration, communicating on a very visual level. And that's great. But what I really need to be doing at this point is bringing together coherent narratives with multiple characters and plenty of dialogue. I should be limbering up for my next run at Welcome To Forever. Instead, I feel like I'm just playing with words.

I suppose it's not so much a writer's block as a writer's diversion. I think maybe I'm a little intimidated by the size of the project I'm undertaking. I'm not sure I can make it work. I've built it up as a challenge in my mind, and I'm not totally sure I'm equal to it, especially not in my current state.

I guess it's about time I lived up to my own hype. I've been hunkered down in the weeds for too long now, making promise after promise about getting back into the world. In truth, I've been half-arsed and lazy about it. That'll have to stop. It's time to come out swinging on all fronts, whether the world's ready for this nicotine-deficient sociopath or not.