Monday, March 18, 2013

5 Unrealistic Promises I Keep Making to Myself

The inner jerk in me keeps bribing myself with peach flavored lollipops, luring me in and convincing me that I can keep up with these overzealous, wide sweeping reoccurring promises of mine. BWAHAHA. So not happening.

Warning: This post is littered and laced with all types of grammatical errors. I’m learning to UN-filter myself. It’s gotta start somewhere. 

1. Be more outgoing. 
F*ck it. I’m shy. There it is. I keep lying to myself year after year after year, and enabling you all to lie to me too, about me one day hinge-kicking out of my shell and becoming this loud, exuberant ball of energy. Even on my most inebriated of days, this isn't the case, and we all know how far liquid courage can go. I need to get real so that I can get some real results from some practical solutions. Which pretty much means hang around with more outgoing people and live vicariously through them. I’m sure it works just as well at baiting adventure.

2. Date
Lol. Big LOL. Due to bullet point numero uno, this little internal resolution I faithfully revisit every 12 months falls flat every time. It isn't exactly the easiest thing in the world to spot Mr. Hot Damn from half way across the room, flash a smile and crook my finger summoning him this way (a la Demetria Lucas bka A Belle in Brooklyn bka my Shero). I’m used to more “organic” situations. Mutual friends and casual conversation. But how often does one such earthly and natural acquaintanceship occur? I’m more likely to have to slip some half-interested dude my number right after some edge-less madam busts it open for him in the club. (No shade if this is your story. Love unfolds in many ways.) I have no more classmates to befriend because that class life is over (for now), and at the work place is just no. There are like 5 guys total, at most. And two of them are married. I mean, I’ll try my luck again at the beach and at summer rooftop soirees and networking mixers again. Chances are if something happens, I had three Tequila Sours in a night.

Friday, March 15, 2013

Bad Poetry Relieves Stress

I don’t’ know what to do with myself when I am stressed, idle and unable to put into words how I feel. This article I read on ThoughtCatalog (I’ll dive into that a little later) said you have to get out all the bad stuff so you can get to the good. So… this is my rambling, cliché, melodramatic poem:

I’ve never felt so stuck as a writer
Nothing to say really
Forcing a concept until I see it more clearly
Drawing a blank more often than not
Glimpses of ideas one moment. The next… damn. I forgot.
And what is this ‘writer’ title anyway
This name we so swiftly dub ourselves
Without the corresponding resume
Forcing it
Not saying sh*t
Even now as I clutch the pen
It’s apparent that I’m struggling
My prose flows differently than my thoughts go
That’s a problem
How am I both the blogger dying for their first print
And the editor sent to stop them?
My creativity’s getting choreographed
I can much less even describe a laugh
That joy I had when the sun teased me from the window-side
Has vanished as soon as summer went to hide
Desk job leaving me dry
Yet, here I sit. Writing to pass the time
To get me started again
The words were my friends
The paper my mate
But me and this stationary just can’t seem to procreate.

Okay so I guess I made my point that I’ve been going through an awful dry spell. Writer’s block is a heaux. I’m striving to be a woman of less complaint and more solutions, so…. I read this really insightful “advice” article about how to be a better writer. He pretty much said (with extremely witty diction, might I add) to stop reading up on “how to be a better writer.” Just write more, write how you’d normally think/talk and stop trying to be extra.