Cleaning House

I don't believe in writer's block.

I don't believe in writer's block.

I don't believe in writer's block.

Maybe if I type it enough times, I'll start to believe it.

I had planned to start writing yesterday morning. I announced to my husband that I would begin rage writing, but that didn't quite pan out.

No, instead, I cleaned.

It started with my cluttered desk. Next to that was my makeup collection, so I cleaned that. Also the brushes, cause you know, that's just sanitary. Then I looked around and decided to clean my office. Then I figured, why not unpack my suitcase. So I did that.

This morning, I woke up ready to write but instead I cleaned the bathrooms, mopped the kitchen floor, decluttered and then swept the garage, and washed three loads of things that normally get ignored when I do laundry.

I saw all the art supplies all over the house and I picked them up and put them into their assigned hutch. The hutch was a mess, so I took all the paint bottles and made sure that I separated each color hue appropriately. Then, of course, I had to make sure those brushes were cleaned and in their own separate containers. There were the large ones, the watercolors ones, the detail ones, and the crappy ones I should throw away but keep because I hate to throw anything away.

Then when I was done with that, I decided to take out all the pens around the house and figure out which ones still had ink on them. I ended up with 46 duds, 15 pencils which I sharpened, 8 blue pens, and 78 black pens.

So yeah....I don't believe in writer's block.

I like to think I have a muse instead. It's much easier for me to handle my creativity if I don't take responsibility for the full of it. Elizabeth Gilbert said it's like swallowing the sun if you start thinking you're a genius and your work is your own doing.

The thing is, I can feel the words. They're there. I thought I wasn't upset, but maybe I am. I have a lot to say. My fingers are ready to type. I don't know what's stopping me.

If I write it all down, if I pull back the scab that's trying to form, if I'm honest about what I feel...I think I worry that I won't be able to put myself back together. I mean, I've been broken before. I break again and again, but each time, I put myself back together. This isn't the first time I've been dropped this hard. You'd think I'd be used to it by now.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow is when I'll do it. I swear. Tomorrow. It took all day for me to get my ass on this chair and get these words out. It is only a drop out of the monsoon inside me. I am sinking inside myself.

It's times like this that I wish I wasn't so introspective. Oh, what I would give to be superficial and unaware that death is just around the corner and to make each moment count. Why can't I be that girl for a day?

The house is clean. There's nothing left for me to organize or set right. Even my nail polishes have been set to order. I have manipulated my environment to order to help convince the chaos inside my mind to go away.

My heart doesn't believe it. When I stop moving, I can hear it and I want to sit down and cry.

Tomorrow.