Sitting here
tonight, for the first time in so long I feel awake. After a lengthy series of
events—all of which would break my current train of thought—I find myself at a
place I didn’t expect. I won’t speak of employment because even though I
currently am holding an occupation, working in a rather superstitious industry,
I’ve found myself to be on the same merit at more than a number of occasions.
Nor will I speak of my transition since it is of no consequence in my current status
quo. Then what shall I discuss? Why the thing that started these very pages of
text, my vary writing itself.
Lately I have
dealt with a great deal of frustration, mostly from lack of focus. I thought it
was a general prognosis, however, that didn’t seem to be the case—starting in
2010 I achieved to accomplish what I achieved (it just took three years instead
of one; granted I didn’t pass the Linux+ Exam, but I didn’t realize how truly
taxing it would be). As for my literary efforts nothing has seem to come of
them. I spent the past several months taking a hiatus from my diary (yes, I
will finally concede that it is a diary and not a journal) to pursue the
efforts of writing a book or a play, or whatever idiotic thing that comes to
mind (bad 1990’s-esque poetry would included). That proved relatively futile in
the end because it came back to the same problem it always does, I return to
that damn: “Oh whoa with me” that occupies most bad works; my bad works in
particular.
I’d continue
complaining, but all of the things I want to bitch about, particularly missing my
30th Birthday, the end of Year Six and the start of Year Seven, I
can’t talk about due to contractual obligations or nothing was happening (and
no, the first is not a joke, I literally cannot write about work because of my
contract). So what can I talk about, is this the end of the Daily Distortions?
Have I finally run out of things to say?
I kind of feel
like I have; I’m not really certain why I write anymore. I find myself more
willing to read other people’s works or watch the videos of others than attempt
to write something myself. But then I come across something I was working on
before that I didn’t finish and wonder why I stopped. The only thing I can
reason of is that I keep wanting to do large works and I choke.
So I thinking,
later today, I am going to try and write a short poem or sketch or scene a day,
something that doesn’t take longer than thirty minutes, and maybe I can build
up to what I was trying to be. If nothing comes of it, at least the Daily
Distortions will be able to keep going.
