M-E-H

I'm craving change right now. I'm craving with it to the point of utter distraction.

I'm feeling stagnant and dull and full of boredom. If I had to sum up my existence right now, it would be "Ennui with brief bursts of amazement and wonder". And I would like to change that to read "Amazement and wonder with tiny pockets of ennui".

Feh.

Part of this is job related. I'm feeling the early warning signs of burnout. I feel more impatience and my "goodwill towards men" ideals are taking a definite hit as of late.

I sit here and simmer with unused ambition and it bothers me.

So I am doing small, wee things to change this. I'm looking for alternate career paths, I'm shaking off the lazies and doing more exercise, I'm tackling some ambitious (for me) recipes in the kitchen and I'm ready hefty books.

I'm trying to define the Things That Make Steph Happy and I'm slowly, slowly finding a path. The path is still covered in weeds and lined with suspicious animals, but the way is emerging. It's up to me to take a deep breath and follow it without too much fear.

Right now, the world does not seem to have enough color in it. And it's not the fault of the world, it's because my view is tinted grey right now and I need to take the steps to bring the colors back.

I need to free myself of the chains of dulled boredom and really start to enjoy myself. Maybe I need to run around the woods at midnight and finger paint and be ridiculous.

And I know this is a totally melodramatic, mopey post, but that's where my brain space is right now.

I promise that the sunshine and ponies will reappear, even if I have to bribe them.

Words, words, words

Ironically, I'm writing here about my spectacular lack of writing.

I know I can write - I can string words together and form passable sentences and I know, vaguely, what a verb is.

And I love to write. I love to take the ideas that live and roam freely in my brain and watch them appear, in black and white, on paper or on a screen.

So why doesn't ability + love = writing?

I have a few theories.

One theory is that I am lazy. Very, very lazy. Also, I'm a procrastinator. The combination of the two make for a very unproductive writer.

Another theory is fear of failure. I have no lack of ideas, but for some reason I feel that when they come out of my brain, they'll be pure fail and I'll be so discouraged that I'll give up.

I know, intellectually, that this is ridiculous. I know that it's ok to write something that's horrible because it might be a precursor to something that's amazing. And writing, any writing, is better than no writing.

So one part of my brain knows this, but the other part of my brain (the one attached to my fingers), is in denial.

And that's part of the reason I started this blog. I know that the readership is negligible and that means that it's a "safe" place for me to write...anything. Even if it's horrible.

And I'm also hoping that this blog will keep me from being lazy. If I remember that "Stephopolis" is sitting here, waiting for me, maybe I'll actually come and use it.

I want 2010 to be the start of a new, more loving relationship between me and my words.