50

 So... This is 50.

Happy Birthday, Heather

 Happy Birthday, Heather. I know you and I are not talking and it appears you have closed me out of your life, but I still want to send this birthday wish into the ether. Hopefully the sentiment will reach you and find you healthy and happy. That is all I've ever wanted for you. Happy Birthday!

 Hey. Trying this again. Turning 49 in a few days. My hip hurts. New kitchen floor has been installed. My library needs a complete overhaul. It's fucking hot outside. And one of these days I am going to sit down and actually write. I must. I want it.

 Ugh. Why can't I write? Why can't I sit down and write? This is torturous. 

Let's Be Real

It dawned on me late this evening that this "blog" serves its most important purpose as a running status of my mental health. With the coronavirus having shut down a large amount of society at large, I have not been able to attend therapy as I have in the past. I know there are other ways to have sessions (phone, video-chat, virtually, etc.) but I have not felt comfortable with those. I've been okay for this first four months in lockdown. I have focused on my family, trying to put the importance of staying physically healthy first and foremost. And most of the mental health work has been in trying to keep my children engaged and as anxiety-free as possible. But for me, the last couple days have been a bit trying. Not sure why exactly. It is almost Heather's birthday. Maybe that's it. The loneliness, the lack of friends, the self-imposed impulse towards introversion. I just feel alone. Lost. Again.

Could use a lack of procrastination right about now.

Yeah, so the new blog thing is not working out as well as I had hoped. It turns out that being stuck in the house with two young children during a lockdown is more about trying to stay sane than unlocking some ambitious work ethic. The good news is that it looks like there will be a lot more time to attempt these writing challenges. The bad news is that the good news is also the bad news. Right now, sleep sounds like the best thing.

June 9, 2020

The world is on fire. Just want to put that out there.

It isn't that I am not interested in talking about the things going on in the world. Things like the Covid-19 pandemic, the protests brought on by even more senseless racist killings of black people by police, or the utter shitstorm of this current presidential administration. I could talk on those things for days and days. But this blog is to help me focus. To help me focus on my writing. Because I am about to turn 47 and I have no more excuses.

I just backed up the blog posts from my previous blog, Rantings, Ravings, and Writings. As I was doing that, I noticed that I was too varied in what I was doing. Even worse was that it didn't lead anywhere. I've been stuck for too long. Bits and pieces. Starts and stops. Words. Phrases. A graveyard.

Perhaps I can pick through those old posts and find usable nuggets. Perhaps not. We will see. But for now, I am moving forward with potentially five different projects.

Project A: Working Title: "Words from Inside" Olly Issacs narrator. First line - "With a whisper."

Project B: Working title: "The Breakup Album" Poems. My personal "Rumours," or "Blue," or "Blood on the Tracks."

Project C: Working Title: "Depression Stories" Multiple short stories. Invisible roommate as one. Flower growth. Missing words. More.

Project D: Working Title: "Force of Nature" Main character - Gail. Extension of previous story.

Project E: Working Title: "Family Holds" Brother/sister focus. Relationship with widowed father. Relationship with sister's wife. More.

The point I am trying to make is that this blog is going to be boring. So unless someone has an unfulfilled need to watch the behind-the-scenes of a struggling writer try to fight off his imposter syndrome and create something, this blog is typing into the void. That always works, right?