I haven't written in a while. I've lacked motivation and inspiration. Not to mention time. Work has luckily kept me busy which is great for my head. Keeps me from having to worry about other things. I wish I had the motivation to write more often. Or at least something worth saying every once in a while so I'd have an excuse to write. Everything in my mind lately just sounds so juvenile and naive and I'm almost embarrassed to let anyone else in on it. Whenever I try to write it comes back in full circle as basically what I feel and what I feel is constantly the same. I have no insightful words of wisdom. I have no dramatic life stories. I have my emotions and they get me nowhere. And see, even now as I reread what I just wrote, it sounds pointless. Who, but me, would care about how I feel?
I adore words but I am not a person of many of them. What I mainly write in my spare time outside of this blog is about people. About people, and life, and different situations they are put in. I write what they say, what they think, how they feel. I focus on the people and not the imagery around them. I can't be poetic whenever I want to. It just slips out when it feels like it. No, it's not a bad thing. But when I read other writing - writing that is full of such beautifully descriptive words, I envy it. I want to be able to write breathtaking settings - a passionate sunset, a powdery snowfall, the roaring waves of the ocean. But not only do I want to write them, I want to be able to incorporate them.
Going back to feelings, how is this entry supposed to be interesting to someone other than me? More importantly, do I really care? I guess not.
