This will be my 23rd post of the month, which means I'm tracking well behind the other months of this year in terms of posting. It's been harder to motivate myself this month, and I'm not 100% certain why that is. I know the exciting Democratic primary is over, so the ebb and flow of that are now absent. It's summer, and one can always find interesting things to do in the summer that don't involve sitting at a computer, formulating thoughts, and trying to express them in quasi-coherent fashion.
But there's an extra anomie in me that is starting to break down the extent to which I even have the desire to maintain the every-day habit. Back on January 1, when I pledged to myself to write each day, I didn't put a particular timeframe on it; I just wanted to create a new habit (so I would post more than the once a month I managed last year). I'm in a state, now, where I'm not even sure I want to read myself, my own work, and, when you get there, it becomes harder to think that anyone else might want to either.
What I'm trying to figure out now, is this a reflection of a generalized feeling about the world? I have some building frustrations about certain things, and I suspect I may be laying those off on the activity that has consumed somewhat more of my time and attention than I originally expected.
Something that I find counterintuitive, when I started writing regularly, I thought that it would provide a safety valve, that by writing about some of the things which I find, say, disappointing about the world, I would feel better about them. I don't think that's happened at all; rather, I find these things even more aggravating than I do before I start writing.
I'm going to have to spend some more time thinking about this subject, maybe take a break, let some of the other fine Androcassian-thinking people take the ball for a while. For now, I'll continue to lump along, searching for inspiration. Thanks for listening.
But there's an extra anomie in me that is starting to break down the extent to which I even have the desire to maintain the every-day habit. Back on January 1, when I pledged to myself to write each day, I didn't put a particular timeframe on it; I just wanted to create a new habit (so I would post more than the once a month I managed last year). I'm in a state, now, where I'm not even sure I want to read myself, my own work, and, when you get there, it becomes harder to think that anyone else might want to either.
What I'm trying to figure out now, is this a reflection of a generalized feeling about the world? I have some building frustrations about certain things, and I suspect I may be laying those off on the activity that has consumed somewhat more of my time and attention than I originally expected.
Something that I find counterintuitive, when I started writing regularly, I thought that it would provide a safety valve, that by writing about some of the things which I find, say, disappointing about the world, I would feel better about them. I don't think that's happened at all; rather, I find these things even more aggravating than I do before I start writing.
I'm going to have to spend some more time thinking about this subject, maybe take a break, let some of the other fine Androcassian-thinking people take the ball for a while. For now, I'll continue to lump along, searching for inspiration. Thanks for listening.
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