I moved to this tiny little place in the middle of nowhere for the job I just got laid off from. It’s two miles away, along a sought out bicycle route, and near the ocean and a quaint little art/biker town (if we were anywhere but in the US, I’d define it as a village). When we moved here, the house came with a chicken and a cat.
I was tickled pink. I already have a cat, but the more the merrier (don’t judge me!), and I’ve always wanted to keep chickens. Unfortunately, the chicken was gotten by an owl, but the cat is still around. We call her Aurora. She is feral, though wants to be petted and loved. However, you have to stay stationary for a little bit for her to make her way up to you. At which point she’ll make running passes at you, rubbing against your legs as she does so. Eventually, she will warm up to you, and if she ever gets the gall to climb into your lap, she won’t stop drooling and rolling around.
You know, it’s not so much a matter that I think that people will want to hear what I have to say, or that I have anything worth blogging about. It’s something to help me commit to doing my school, something that allows me to talk without actually having to yack everyone’s ear off.
I generally journal, but recently there has been something very intimidating about my journal. It used to be that I would go through a bound blank book anywhere from two weeks to a month. But I have been writing in the same journal since 2011. 2011! That’s far, far too long to be stuck in one journal.
I am a traditionalist in that way though. I truly believe that putting pen to paper is the truest form of the craft and I believe that my energy is more focused during those moments when I am scribing away on a bit of parchment. I feel like typing is just pushing buttons with some primitive pleasure of seeing the result pop up on the screen instantaneous. If my keyboard were made of shiny red buttons I’d never leave the poor thing alone!
Journaling to me is therapeutic. I read some meme or quote or something on Pintrest the other day that said “I write because I never know what I think until I see it on paper.” That’s it, right there really. That’s why I need to journal.
But when I write, I’m like Aurora. It takes so long for me to get up the idea to write, the confidence in myself to write something. If someone comes in and interrupts me, asks me what I’m doing – I get skittish and scared, and I run off. I can’t face writing.
So now, pushing buttons is what I have. It’s how I can write, it’s how I can stop myself from getting skittish. I have one window for the blog, or for Word, and another tab opened to email, or Facebook, or whatever else – so that no one will catch me in the act.
It’s so silly, so odd that it takes me so much gumption to be able to do the thing I am passionate about, but I suppose there are reasons for it. These reasons are of course undiscovered, since I haven’t been able to write since I haven’t been able to write. I haven’t been able to see what I think yet, figure out what is crouching beneath the layers of my psyche. Perhaps I will find out.
Until then, I push buttons. Perhaps I will discover something.