I'm stuck. Stopped up. Creatively constipated. It's not just words. I'm always stuck in writing. Nothing new there. Sometimes I just type letters in no particular order in hopes that when I look at it later, I can unscramble it into a sentence. I think this is an actual writing technique. It for sure explains a lot about my poor, poor grammar. Sometimes it works and sometimes I delete a lot of words and sometimes I don't even write any words. Most times. Most times I don't even write any words. I'm hard pressed these days to tell you about my mundane lack luster life. I bought a new 8"skillet, the last one I'll ever buy because it came with a lifetime warranty. I bought a new iPad because half my apps stopped working on my old first generation iPad. Sunday, I reached behind a box in the garage to grab what I thought was going to be another baby bunny only to realize by the flapping wing against my arm that it was a bird. I'm probably more tired of the stories about what Albus has brought inside than you are.
I read an article recently, maybe in this month's Yoga Journal, that listening to the sounds of nature helps with creativity. This was followed up with a series of creativity inspiring asanas which were a bunch of hip openers. In the yoga world, your hips are the luggage that carries all your troubles and grief and stress. Emotions. Emotional luggage. That's your hips. I feel creatively stunted most of the time and since hip opening poses are easy for me, I can only assume that my luggage is broken. The latch is busted so that it just hangs open with both sides of the case full of shit spilling out all over the place. I just spent the last thirty minutes listening to the sounds of the forest and twenty minutes of listening time wasted on nothing creatively smart on the internet. It is taking me days to write this entry.
It's not the blogging I'm all that concerned about though. Blogging ebbs and flows. I have brief glimpses of ideas for things that don't even make it to paper these days. I need to do some creative things with printed photos because they're starting to pile up. I was thinking of an old school photo album. I'm not the scrap booking type, but I did see myself sitting down each evening and writing a bit of something next to each picture. Anyone follow Ali Edwards? I picture creating books like that, not nearly as creative or elaborate as Ali's, but neatly telling a story. Then I worry it will just be one of those things in the stack of things on my end of the coffee table. There's two coloring books sitting there with a set of colored pencils that have been sitting there for ages, untouched. I mean, not completely untouched. I did pick them up when I was cleaning on Sunday and considered finding them a new home before setting them back on the coffee table. Leaving them out at least gives me the illusion that I'm going to pick up a book and color.
Maybe that's what I need to do with those pictures. Maybe I need stop stashing them in different desk drawers and just leave them out on the coffee table. At least then I'd have the illusion of doing something creative with them. At the very least, the clutter would drive me so insane that I'd have to do something with them.
Like put them back in a drawer.