What am I doing?
I've been struggling with purpose. I have my job that I love. I have my animals. I have my family. But i'm endlessly thinking what else? There has to be more? I think that's always been a part of my problem. I want MORE. Gluttony would be my sin.
That's what brought me here I guess. I want more fulfillment. I love writing, yet I don't give myself the time and outlet to do it. It's because I have this image of me writing a novel in my head and I'm an all or nothing person. So if don't have an idea that flows regularly, I come up with every excuse in the book to not do it.
Instead I consume. I waste away on my couch and I don't create anything but more regret. I'm also being a bit of a drama queen because i'm stuck at home, my dog just had surgery and I've been literally sitting in his cage with him due to his anxiety and the nature of his surgery. Imprisonment by my own design.
It really gets you thinking. So I have all this time on my hands and I want to do something with it. I went on a deep dive into writing competitions, joined a few. But Prose wheeled me in. I love the idea of prompts. And so far its ignited a part of me I thought was going to stay dead. Or rusty, you know. Like an engine that won't fully turn over. Get that start going and fuck the follow through because no one is there to hold me accountable but me and I'm an unreliable witness.
So yeah I'm thankful for stumbling upon this. Thankful to clear my head from the negative, incessant thoughts. I would write more but the family just got home.
Terminal
It’s an ancient, imposing redwood turned hollow, cracked and teetering.
It’s a roaring, great flame turned flickering embers and floating ash.
It’s a gushing, voluminous river turned trickling stream and parched earth.
It’s an original, sparkling home turned withered, dilapidated and rotting.
They don’t tell you how contagious it is – that it’s a mummification of everyone’s soul.
You break as they break.
You wilt as they wilt.
You fade as they fade.
They don’t tell you how agonizing it is – being the bystander, the one left behind.
So no, please don’t send me flowers, for before long, it’ll be another helpless reminder of lush vitality decaying slowly into dust.