I’m not writing much lately. What I am doing, though, is complaining about it a lot. It’s not even writer’s block. It’s an insult to genuine writers if I call it that. Maybe it’s because of my job. It is so mindnumbingly boring that I can actually feel my brain cells dying, one by one. All I do is copy-paste and fill in mindless spreadsheets with data I care two hoots about. That’s eight and a half hours of my life that I’m never getting back, everyday.
If I dig some more, I could come up with more reasons as to why I don’t write anymore. But I know as well as anyone that those are just excuses. Excuses like lack of time, fatigue, caught up in the drudgery of household chores- but it’s more than that. I don’t know what it is. My blogger friends ask me why I haven’t updated my blog in so long, and I have no answer. Even my mom and dad have started asking me why I don’t write anymore.
It’s not like I don’t write at all. I do. I scribble in my diary sometimes, a few lines here and there. But I think more than not being able to write, I think I have lost confidence in my writing. I start writing a post, and halfway through, I decide that it’s not good enough. And I give it up. Just like that. In fact, when I started typing this post too, I was pretty sure I’ll write a paragraph and then abandon it after that. How could I give up so easily? How could I give up on something that is the very core of me, the thing that defines me, gives meaning to my life?
Maybe I’ve lost it.
There. I’ve said it. It’s out in the open. And now that I’ve actually physically typed it out, maybe I can start to deal with it.