Gooooooood morning! It is, in fact, verified by my computer screen, 4:32 AM Central time!
I’ll be real, I was just having a horrible time trying to stay asleep, as it is about one billion degrees outside and a plethora of mosquitos have taken abode in my bed or whatever — and I had one of those things that I haven’t had in a really long while.
Whenever I used to write in my prime (2014/15), I would get these creative surges in such arbitrary moments. It wasn’t ever really an idea, per se, but just a general feeling of
need, and I always have dropped everything and written for a bit, or at least release that outburst in some form of written words.
It felt really great, actually, that dopamine release when I started thinking fluently with the writing. It’s actually pretty hard for me to get to the place these days. It sucks. Feels really, rightfully bogus. It makes me associate my current blooming adulthood, if you will, with the end of my prime creative window. And I don’t know how it got this way.
Anyway, the reason I’ve written thus far is because, like I said, the creative surge. Disappointingly, the surge didn’t come with any blueprint, so I just cognitively figured
that writing about why I couldn’t write anymore would be relevant and interesting to thecouple thousand of you reading. I finished that sentence with a large, verbal vociferation and a self-given Neck.
I’m only eighteen, and I sometimes already feel like I’m aging like an old woman.
This is dangerously similar to the feelings of puberty, but it’s an absolute mind-fuck version of it. The puberty is mentally, everything’s changing on the outside in your world, and your brain is just processing all of these modifications.
I know that just because I’m a *ahem* Legal Adult ™ doesn’t mean I am reaching the end of my creative window. I know that right now. But when I’m in those really frustrated moments, where I can’t help but compare myself to how I was at seven years old.
I miss the me without the mental creativity and ingenuity blocks.
I realize, at this point, that there is no rhyme or reason or rhythm or basic post formatting, but I don’t apologize for voicing my experience on what I think (maybe) many others struggle with.
Disclaimer, I am not going to proof read this. We are far beyond the sober editing point, ya hear?
In other news, I have just now, in this very, moment as I type this, made the flaccid andunstable agreement with myself, that I will try to push myself
to write more for this crowd in the next coming months. I, personally, have some big shifts (move to New York for school) headed my way that will most definitely send my emotions out of whack — and you all know I thrive on here when I am absolutely wilding out on emotional train rides.
Alright. That’s all. Jesus H., I forgot I have to add my gifs