I've often felt that I best express myself when I write; words flow with ease; I articulate better—I somehow manage to make a whole lot of sense when I just let the words flow. So what's stopped me these past two years?
My job involves writing on a daily basis—I give readers tidbits of facts, packaged in a rather vibrant wrapping paper, complete with bow and all—but somehow, I find that there's something still amiss.
Maybe I'm in my head a little too much; maybe I've invested so much of my emotions in my soulmate that I don't need to vent on paper anymore; or maybe, there's something improsoned within me, and I just need to find the key. Whatever seems to be the problem, I need to break out of this rut.
The fact remains, I miss the simple pleasure of writing just for me—of having that secret space, just for myself, where my words aren't censored by some snooty copy editor who can't really tell her arse from her elbow; where I have the freedom to express myself, without being subjected to "writing school" knowledge, but instead, really have something to say.
No, the irony hasn't escaped me—I do realise this is a blog and that the "my space" aspect of writing is defeated by the fact that this isn't exactly private, but who am I kidding, I barely have any followers so there's really no chance that someone is going to read this.
And so I rant—rant that I may never really live up to my full potential; rant that I've let a crazy, erratic boss take charge of the direction my creativity is supposed to flow in; rant that I'm too naive to accept that this is a dog eat dog world and that its every man for himself.
I began this post in the hopes that it would turn into a poem. Instead, I'm left with a monologue that took about 30 minutes to jot down, and will accomplish absolutely nothing. Goodie!
But, I will admit that it does feel good to write, just for me, again. And who knows, someday, these ramblings of a crazy person, might just be worth something.
Me and my wishful thinking, I know. Maybe next time, I'll decide to rant, and hopefully, end up with a poem instead.
