I wonder what its all about

Oh, wow. Somehow, things went stagnant all of a sudden.

You know, I've gotten things done in the last few days. Today, for instance, I applied (on-line mostly) to over two dozen different locations, which I have every intention of calling back tomorrow morning. I've made some significant progress in the recordings of my poetry and stories that I've been working on lately. I've read two more chapters in the Harry Potter book to my little sister. I made good food, dressed nicely, smiled and done good things.

Why, then, do I feel so low all of a sudden?

Everyone these days says that life is going so fast, too fast, but I experience none of it any more. It was like I was caught in the tide and now found myself miraculously on an island. I got an extreme taste of adulthood and then was cast back into the care of other adults. What the hell happened here?

I miss Eddie suddenly, I miss company suddenly. Someone I can flop down on and love and snuggle. I miss the closeness I get from a relationship, I miss the closeness I get from my stories.

I was talking and/or thinking out loud the other day, when I woke up and had, literally, nothing to do, and I put my head on my arms and said, "This is what it feels like to have no inspiration."

I realize that this is a very true statement. What I feel right now is what it does feel like to have no inspiration. What has happened to it? Where did it go? Do I need to go looking under the bed and behind the refrigerator?

I also notice as I look around me that I have not yet marked my own territory here. The reason I so frantically went job-hunting today was not because of just money, money, money; its because right now I need it. I need to occupy myself with something that will bring forth some sort of substance. Why? Because, sooner or later, I'm going to have to sit down and really write. And if I really write, I need to have a space of my own.

And there you go. When I wrote before, I could turn around from my desk and flop down on my bed, sigh and snuggle up next to my cat and my dog or my stuffed animals. I could coil and tumble in my own comfort, my own scent, my own feeling of comfort.

I have something very close to that here, except for one thing; I have no privacy.

Where I'm sitting right now is a prime place to do some writing, a prime spot to really loose myself in my threads. But I am constantly interrupted. Sunlight, which is a great enemy to my inspiration; my sister, who is constantly vying for my attention. How can I outwardly just shun her?

I would say I need so many things. A laptop, an eternal nighttime, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, but I really need just one thing. A fine conk on the head for being so stupid. What am I doing, exactly? Why am I having this much trouble?

I think that the main problem, above all problems, is my inability to really wrap my head around the seriousness of my own situation. I want to hide in my comfort spot, but I need to realize that its not coming back.

To, put it blankly, stop whining and start writing.

It sounds simple. It IS simple. But its just as simple as jumping off a cliff. I don't know what’s at the bottom, I don't know if I am going to--well, "survive", but its really easy to just walk, to just jump, to just plummet. To whatever end. I suppose.

Forever indecisive and wondering and self-analyzing,
Your very beautiful, very young,
-Teigra.

“Better to write for yourself and have no public, then write for the public and have no self.”-Cyril Connolly