a novel poser

although it’s spring break and i’ve made it a point to avoid productivity, i do have several projects that need to be done. despite my best attempts at forgetting them, they cling to my body like clothes that are slightly too small - the type of too small that, though you usually wear a medium, is made by a different manufacturer and you knew you should have tried them on but your pride insisted “you are a medium, don’t bother” and, sure enough, here you are, struggling to breathe while the fabric grates on your medium skin and reminds you that you have papers to write. papers to write as an english major are par for the course. “papers to write” as a graduate student, while obviously more difficult, might as well be a perpetual status of being that should be expected and as normal as waking up in the morning - most likely you will, but sometimes you don’t. so why am i struggling? if i knew, precisely, i wouldn’t be approaching this from such a vague and wordy perspective. despite the impression my writing style may give you, i can, shockingly, be direct. but where’s the fun in that? i can pinpoint when my “writing ptsd” began manifesting in such a way that it was becoming truly detrimental, but its roots extend far below the surface of that event. said event being my first, genuine graduate level research project. more or less, i got smacked right in the wordy mouth - a first for me. it wasn’t that i didn’t enjoy the subject or the process or the extensive reading or even the writing. it was because, well, simply because it was hard. 

oh come on, it was hard? that’s my excuse? of course it was, but it was the first time it was so hard for me. i, as a flawed human, find many tasks to be difficult. many times i fail on my first attempt and, often, subsequent ones as well - an example being removing keys from a keyring. it’s nearly impossible for me to do, but i hand it over to a friend and they manage it in a matter of seconds. that’s just how life is. i couldn’t take keys off a keyring but i could read books and write papers. when i was soul searching in nashville, feeling as if i had made a major mistake - i chose to return to indiana state university to pursue an english degree for a number of reasons, but two particular contributors to that decision were “i enjoy it and its easy to me.” it’s interesting doing something you love because it can be, realistically, dangerous. i think you put that love or passion at jeopardy when you decide to elevate it from the comfortable but pressureless role of pastime to profession. it can become tainted and agonizing because now its a source of struggle when, still fresh in your confused and depressed mind, it used to bring you pleasure. 

so, like i said, i got smacked. the kind of hit to the face that, despite your best attempts, you can’t stop the tears from transforming your vision into a painful kaleidoscope, your ears are ringing like a homephone in the 90′s after an episode of survivor, and your mind is as blank as the word processor sitting in front of you. maybe its over dramatic and im a hypocrite, but it’s how i felt and, to an extent, still feel. i think the simplest way to sum it up is this: whenever you, deep within your greediest heart of hearts, allow yourself to believe “yeah, i’m kinda okay at this” and begin to gradually define yourself by this “kinda okay” feature because it’s something you actually like about yourself and then, often with a suddenness you’re unable or unwilling to comprehend, that feature you were “kinda okay” at that made things kinda easy fails, crumbling down into the darkest pit of your stomach along with your confidence because you could count the things you liked about yourself on a hand with some amputated fingers and this one was your favorite. when something enjoyable is easy and it abruptly becomes hard, the stoicism and mental fortitude required to struggle on through is, often, absent. thus the conundrum of easy’s difficult nature. thus my struggle to write papers or, honestly, anything at all. after writing all of this out, a moral victory (but “moral victories are for little league coaches” - Jay Z), my point for doing so isn’t substantial, wise, or even thought provoking - i’m just tired of feeling this way, i want to rekindle that enjoyment, i want to remind myself that I can do it. if it’s hard, it’s hard, such is life, such are most things worth doing, a challenge is a chance to learn. I know this and think this but don’t always act accordingly, however, i’m working on it. i think that, because im working on it, i’ll be okay. i’ll go on writing a word, then a sentence, then a paragraph, and then a page. and then another. 

listening to: james blake’s The Colour In Anything

I hope to, in some small, tentative way, determine a direction for this tumblr. Knowing myself, it’ll probably never reach any semblance of a “compelling destination,” but at least, even if ultimately abandoned and discarded, it’ll be a manifestation of resistance against stagnation and inaction. A tangible (except, well, not really) piece of evidence that says “hey, look, I did a thing today that I could have said I’d do tomorrow - which is better than nothing.” Haruki Murakami, a renowned magical-realist author notorious for not revealing the purpose or reasoning behind his stories’ surrealism, explained in an interview with the Paris Review “Disappointment is a rite of passage. Experience itself is meaning. The protagonist has changed in the course of his experiences--that’s the main thing. Not what he found, but how he changed.” This resonated with me enough to write it down - it’s pretty poignant, a cluster of words and meanings that are beautiful in their simplicity and conveyance. While disappointment has been a rite of passage I’ve yet to transcend, I figure actually putting my thoughts and feelings down may be the kind of experience I desperately need at the moment. I, many years ago, did this for all the wrong reasons and still found it cathartic - today, at this time, I don’t care if anyone reads a single word, I don’t expect them to. Sure, I’ll share it on facebook and maybe even twitter, just to offer up an alternative to the gifs and memes, but no hard feelings if it’s glossed and tossed away. So, as far as “direction” is concerned, I just want the feeling of movement. I don’t dare hope for a sense of progress, but the sensation of finger-to-key, finger-to-key, relaying pieces of me across an intimidating and endless tundra of white, sloshing along one tiny, dark character at a time is more than enough. 

All of that being said, there is no particular theme or motif behind this tumblr - though that is liable to change, as things often do. It’s just as possible that this will be the one and only post - a headstone that reads “R.I.P. this writer’s vision and motivation.” That’s pretty dramatic, but it is, essentially, true. How many times do we fall prey to the illusion of grandeur? The prospect of a project, large or small, is intoxicating. And, fittingly enough, we often awake a day or week later, hungover from the creativity and effort required that we innocently romanticized and marginalized in order to revel in whatever the “end product” might bring us. If this hits home to anyone reading as a strikingly appropriate description, it’ s only because I’m quite accomplished in monumental masonry, metaphorically, of course. Anyway, I’m hoping that, by making this public, I’ll feel some sort of self-pressure to actually commit to it because, if not, my lame nature and inability to see the project through will be exposed. Since I will, most likely, fail - judging by background, not just pessimistically - I wonder if this tumblr will, in the end, only reveal that I’m a masochistic quitter? 

If this has answered the “y tho” I eloquently posed, I figure the next question I should address is “wut tho?” Hmm, maybe “how tho” would be more appropriate, but I can’t think of a clever way to style “how,” so “wut” it is. I’ll probably just conduct little thought train experiments, much like this post, or share some silly observations or recollections that have popped into focus with the kind of sound you make with your lips when imitating a leaky faucet. Maybe I’ll write about the books I’m reading (the ones I’m reading for fun), the movies I’ve seen, the games I’ve played, etc. Creative pieces would be wonderful, but I must have abused or not used my muse (too much or too little, respectively) so those gifts of inspiration she brings have been few and far between. Maybe this tumblr will be a way to atone or to show that I’m still here and capable of the physical act of writing. I dunno, we’ll see what happens, I’m not going to give it serious thought (the thing I’ve thought about most since starting this post was whether I should use capitalization at all) and will, instead, defer to a more whimsical strategy. The only hard and fast rule I’m going to implement, for now, is that I can only reblog one post for every post I write. While I don’t mind sharing things I’m interested in, I’d prefer to exhibit my ego and self-centered practices through words. Oh, I’ll also tag on a little section to each post that, as I think about it, comes across pretty myspace-y but will be interesting, for me, to look back on that includes what I’m thinking/feeling, what I plan to do after posting, and what I’m listening to atm. There, the rules are made, I am resigned to my fate /alt+f4

Listening to: “Tokyo Witch” by Beach House on repeat. idk probably heard it eight times or so while writing this. A haunting and ethereal gem uncovered while absentmindedly skipping through my phone’s musical library by means of the “shuffle” feature. Been a fan of Beach House since The Weeknd sampled two songs on House of Balloons, but I’ve hardly listened with the attention they deserve.

Feeling: A little bit accomplished? Yeah, a little. Mixed with this sense of dread like “you feel good about this now, but just you wait... when you haven’t posted for two weeks you’re gonna feel the equivalent inverse. Actually, more than equivalent, sorrow is, generally, magnified.” Aside from that, though, not half bad. Spring Break tends to be a pretty comfy buffer against negativity and stress.