Mel Brooks said writing is 80% inspiration and 20% perspiration. I am a writer because it’s the first thing I want to do. To be fully alive there has be a purpose other than eating and sleeping with work in between. My first day hour job in 10 years filled the last but killed my creativity. When those burst of fully formed ideas happen, they are gifts. They die without care. Having internet where I live is becoming a need not a want. Time’s critical to maintain the gossamer structure fighting the overwhelming flow of conscious attention. My solution to the problem has stopped working recently.
That’s the main reason for the spotty posting. Three drafts of derailed thoughts. It takes a sustained effort to overcome the unique way my brain processes the flow of ideas. Type. Stop. Reflect. Edit. Type. Multitasking is not a skill I possess. Five years of third shift means my most creative time is right after waking up. At 3 pm. Time has been and still is bracketed between work, kids and sleep. The tension of discovering the true me and the one I lived pre meds is becoming a conflict. Stress from being poor and potentially homeless is more of a relief than a burden compared to that. Not having driving vices has simplified my life after the chaos disappeared. For a month I had no money. It revealed to me people are generous. For a loner, either through personality or choice, it was a lesson a very long time in coming. More likely waiting for me to slow down. Taking a step or three back let’s the current of popular culture flow around you to fill the space.
Culture has been buried so deep with modern marketing techniques its true power is hidden. How we interpret our everyday world has narrowed by the demands of a 24/7 world. Technology has ramped it up to hyperspeed. Once I aged out of the male target demographic life got easier. My choices became much starker without the necessary skills. Small decisions over time steered my path into a cul de sac. The latest of many. No Worries. I have the tools to find my way back. The conscious sidestep in order to stop getting wet from pissing into the wind has put me into a strange calm. Not the eye of the storm. The trailing edge of the gust front. The many tons of cold air falling from thousands of feet now land on someone else. A younger stronger person with a life filled with more wants then needs. Hopefully the heavy weather gear fits better.
Has for me, my apartment is now a place to sleep. The center of a holding pattern while gathering the information to make an informed choice. The mental shift in my reality has changed the physical as well as the emotional. I hope my posting cause ripples that reach one person in a time of darkness.