Breaking the Block

It’s not that I can’t write. It’s not writer’s block. Nothing like that at all. No, it’s that I’m simply not in a frame of mind suitable for writing the sort of material I usually enjoy writing. Until recently, when this sort of mood struck me, I felt pressure to find a way around it or through it. But I don’t feel that pressure now. My attitude is that I’ll write when I feel like writing. Yes, I know; I’m writing now. But this isn’t really writing, at least it’s not writing in the sense of producing creative fiction; that’s what I consider writing. That, and poetry.

I could write poetry now, and in fact I have written a bit of poetry within the last day or so, but not poetry I feel comfortable posting here. Sometime, poetry is so purely personal that it has no place outside its producer; even if I chose to share it, I’m confident people would misread meanings and emotions that I don’t intend to convey. So it will remain hidden from all eyes but mine unless and until I decide to share it.

When I decided to drop out of my sculpture class recently, I coincidentally opted out of my commitment to myself to write something every day. So, some days I am shirking my self-imposed obligation to be creative. That isn’t entirely true; I have been attempting to be creative in other realms, but until I have evidence of modest success or abject failure, I’ll keep those endeavors to myself, as well.

I suspect I may just need a break. A break from myself, in some ways, and perhaps a break from what has become a routine that’s a little too predictable and insufficiently interesting or exciting. Perhaps a little road trip would do the trick. Perhaps not. Maybe a road trip without my computer and with my smart phone dumbed down so that all it can do is place and receive calls; no emails, no texts, no Facebook, no Internet, period.

I wonder whether, if I were to drive into a small town and seek work, I would be able to quickly find a job of some sort? Aside from wondering about my success in such an endeavor, I wonder whether I would really want to do that. Is my sanity in question in the same way that my motivation is of debatable strength?

You probably didn’t want to read this today, did you? Actually, you didn’t read this today, at last not this far down, did you? I know I probably wouldn’t have done, except that I wrote it and I feel a certain sense of obligation.