Sometimes, I just draw a blank. I’m usually full of words, so full that they spill over everywhere and make a big mess, but I’m good (or at least, experienced) at cleaning up.
A wasteland of words is a much more foreign thing. This is not writer’s block, which I consider a bullshit excuse. I could write if there were something to say. Or if my iPad would stop its moronic autocorrection long enough to permit actual composition. (Do I smell a touch of irritability? Um.)
I have been struggling to come up with anything to say here or on Canvas for the last few months. Not coincidentally, it’s also summertime, my usual period of highest functioning. Apparently when I’m able to devote my attention to things like data and policies and theoretical development and all the things I spent 7 years in grad school to be able to profess, I lose the drive to write about anything else. I must write academic papers to stay in the game and remain employed, but that seems to short circuit my passion for other writing. Almost as though there is a natural limit on word production. Which is also BS, I say.
I could write if I had anything to say, but on a mental health blog, saying, “I’m doing fine for now,” doesn’t make for a great story. And, of course, we all know that it won’t last, but as I’ve been taught and constantly reminded in therapy, focusing on when something positive will end just speeds its demise. So I try not to think about the ticking clock that’s counting down the days and weeks to the next episode of cognitive and emotional failure.
In the meantime, I’m guilty of filling the time and space with other stuff. Call it hand-waving, if you will. The occasional photo of the week, the one-off blog contest – all diversions from the fact that there is nothing remotely self-expressive coming out of my head. Well, now I’m making the open admission that I don’t have much to say at the moment. And I vaguely think I may have posted approximately the same thing around a year ago…
There are things I could write about – the most recent trip, progress on the lady stuff, and one that will definitely be coming (by request from Mr. Chickadee) on graduating from DBT soon. I just don’t have the interest or drive to share this stuff – mostly because it sounds like the same story, over and over.
But I guess life is sort of like that. We do the same things, day in and out, and often things that are different from one day to the next have an essential, comforting sameness. Yesterday’s coffee and today’s are the same morning ritual of espresso, regardless of who made it or where I sipped it. Last week’s trip was so like prior trips as to be laughable and a topic for therapy (as in, how do I break these bad habits? the reply was, maybe it’s not worth trying…) and therefore in most ways utterly unremarkable.
Despite my thirst for novelty and constant stimulation, unremarkable can be good. There’s contentment in the everyday home life that can’t be found anywhere else. So I guess that’s more or less where I’m at just now – contented with my daily life, functioning well, and reflective enough to see my patterns of behavior for what they are and what they imply.
All in all, it’s not a bad place to be (at least for now) but it means that I really got nothin’ much to say.