Worst thing to happen to me, as a writer, is to lose the muse. It's utterly frustrating when you want to write but you're so overly critical that you believe the idea is too much. Henceforth, prohibiting you to write at all. Many things inspire me: music, art, experiences. I have been sitting here for about 15 minutes now, listening to song after song. Classical music, believe it or not, has this certain effect on me. Well, technically, instrumentals alone. I can sit there listening to Debussy or Vivaldi and imagine up a story just because I hear the piece. The instruments speaking, portraying a story the composers themselves never spoke about, a mere depiction of memories through musical notes. As though classical music opens up the senses of my imagination, "modern" music does the same at times. Listening to the words and the beat along with it. Imagining the story the artist is saying through his/her words. All in all the point is that music inspired me to sit here and just open up. Sounds funny how I'm saying what you should expect when I'm trying the best I can to be coy about it. Makes no sense so far, does it? Open your mind, close your eyes, just imagine.
I pick up the satin pointe ballet shoes I've had for a couple of years now. All tattered and torn but I keep them. The ivory keys begin to be gently pressed downward, a velvety tune begins to bring forth the rest of the instruments. Strings being carefully plucked by a bow, everything sounding smooth. A variety of sounds, divisions amongst the single most beautiful thing to hear. The divisions hold no hostilities, so they're in complete harmony. None over powering the other. I close my eyes, my thin body begins to sway. The tip of my feet perfectly pointed. My feet resembling a child tip-toeing on Christmas eve to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. I begin to be carried toward the world I created. I'm alone surrounded by mirrors, a laminate wood flooring under my feet. My skin-tight, light rose colored leotard hugging me simultaneously as my tights do the same. The ribbons which I tie around my ankles hold my shoes in place. Little divisions as one, a single thing harmonized. No fear at all. I start to feel tired, weighty; I decided that I was done for the day...I leave the world I love.
When I can't write I feel dissatisfied. I leave the world I love. Writing, with the addition of music playing, makes me feel comforted. I feel weighty when the muse is gone.
I'm having a major writer's block now. It's difficult to keep on going when you don't have much to say at the moment.
I continued a walk to nowhere that I never finished. I climbed a hill today, sat there overlooking the sea. I wondered why I'm not able to write lately. Am I running out of ideas? Is my creativity diminishing? As I did all this, I was listening to my iPod. I felt I was in a scene of a movie, I'm guessing the movie of my own life. "I feel so melodramatic", I whispered with a chuckle. It is extremely difficult to write when you can't find the reason or the areas in which you should elaborate. I walked back home, took a well-deserved nap just to find myself in an unwanted nightmare.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Morning Slumber (Part 1)
My head rattled with so many thoughts, none of them mine. I felt as if my head were to explode. It was 12:53 in the morning and though I could not sleep, I was drowsy and felt as if everything was spinning. This was not unusual but rather quite normal, it happened every morning without failing to occur or cease until exactly 5:07 AM. Even my own dog wouldn't mind, she had completely adapted to my morning rustling and knocking things over. I would get up from bed to reach the balcony which had a lovely view of the sea. The waves would crash against ragged rocks, the air was crisp and cool and had the smell of salt and I could feel cold droplets land on my face. Once I had gone through this routine as I have done many a night before, I would weep. I sobbed til it calmed my rather frustrated mind. The weeping helped each night, that's all I could do to express myself.
Every morning I would follow the same steps. I not only suffered from OCD, but I forced myself to become that way. Why? Well, I was alone and hated what I did every single day. I despised how I couldn't speak, how I felt. I disliked most of all how I always felt that people were easily annoyed by me, that I was rather pushy, not very pleasant. So, I became aloof to a long extent.
But today, now today was different. One of my executives hired a rather good-looking man. I thought he looked too good to be in the corporate world. Too charming to work in an office. His records impeccable, his speech perfect to say the least. When he smiled everyone noticed, even me. For some odd reason, during lunch he invited me to a swanky restaurant. I thought he was just trying to impress his new boss. And boy was I wrong! He showed me what I had to do. We talked about nonsense and how the economy needs to rebuild and such. Topics, to be sincere, that I found dull and that is a compliment compared to how I really feel. He told me I looked too kind to work in a hugely successful office, that the business made me hard and cold. He was right. I only joined the company because I felt compelled to do so.
My mother, quite admirable she was, worked in a big office. She was quite successful and I felt I should follow in her footsteps. She looked so happy, with not only her job but our family as well. My dad worked in the same type of area as her, but he had his own company so worked from home in the office he built. I felt that was my destiny. It was right, everyone was happy. I wanted that happiness, so I didn't bother looking further than that. I didn't explore any of my interests, I basically dived into the business world. But I digress. This young man did not know me yet could see through my phony passion for business and for it to prosper.
"Don't leave the office, I have no right to say that. But find yourself, and when the time is right I know you'll do what you please. I used to be a model for magazines and dated many gorgeous women, who were too thin for my taste I might add, but I left that business. I joined the real world and so far it has been what I wanted, even with all of it's kicks in my ass," he told me with an honest smile. "Why are you saying this? You barely know who I am," I said as politely as I could. "But I know who I am and I can see in your face what I saw each day when I woke up for yet ANOTHER dreadful photo shoot," he said with such regret yet no hate was detected. He was a rather young and nice man to hate anything in this world. He did what he pleased whether it was difficult or simple. I admired his character. He did what made him happy and that...that was enough. Enough to actually live life.
Because of this young man, I found myself. I still work at the office but I didn't have my migraine this morning nor will I follow my routine. I will break my cycle of tears and regret, I will shatter my self-induced OCD. In the last decade of my life or so I have had those head pains, and now tonight I will have a well deserved, longingly awaited morning slumber.
Life's too short to not do what you please, but too long to drag on day after day with regret. No wonder the world thinks that they're ugly! Happiness and laughter makes us beautiful, I'm in the midst of taking a chance and look forward to dive into new things. To discover myself, my interests. Life is for someone to live it, why let it go to waste? Isn't that right girl? I think Coco thinks so too.
Every morning I would follow the same steps. I not only suffered from OCD, but I forced myself to become that way. Why? Well, I was alone and hated what I did every single day. I despised how I couldn't speak, how I felt. I disliked most of all how I always felt that people were easily annoyed by me, that I was rather pushy, not very pleasant. So, I became aloof to a long extent.
But today, now today was different. One of my executives hired a rather good-looking man. I thought he looked too good to be in the corporate world. Too charming to work in an office. His records impeccable, his speech perfect to say the least. When he smiled everyone noticed, even me. For some odd reason, during lunch he invited me to a swanky restaurant. I thought he was just trying to impress his new boss. And boy was I wrong! He showed me what I had to do. We talked about nonsense and how the economy needs to rebuild and such. Topics, to be sincere, that I found dull and that is a compliment compared to how I really feel. He told me I looked too kind to work in a hugely successful office, that the business made me hard and cold. He was right. I only joined the company because I felt compelled to do so.
My mother, quite admirable she was, worked in a big office. She was quite successful and I felt I should follow in her footsteps. She looked so happy, with not only her job but our family as well. My dad worked in the same type of area as her, but he had his own company so worked from home in the office he built. I felt that was my destiny. It was right, everyone was happy. I wanted that happiness, so I didn't bother looking further than that. I didn't explore any of my interests, I basically dived into the business world. But I digress. This young man did not know me yet could see through my phony passion for business and for it to prosper.
"Don't leave the office, I have no right to say that. But find yourself, and when the time is right I know you'll do what you please. I used to be a model for magazines and dated many gorgeous women, who were too thin for my taste I might add, but I left that business. I joined the real world and so far it has been what I wanted, even with all of it's kicks in my ass," he told me with an honest smile. "Why are you saying this? You barely know who I am," I said as politely as I could. "But I know who I am and I can see in your face what I saw each day when I woke up for yet ANOTHER dreadful photo shoot," he said with such regret yet no hate was detected. He was a rather young and nice man to hate anything in this world. He did what he pleased whether it was difficult or simple. I admired his character. He did what made him happy and that...that was enough. Enough to actually live life.
Because of this young man, I found myself. I still work at the office but I didn't have my migraine this morning nor will I follow my routine. I will break my cycle of tears and regret, I will shatter my self-induced OCD. In the last decade of my life or so I have had those head pains, and now tonight I will have a well deserved, longingly awaited morning slumber.
Life's too short to not do what you please, but too long to drag on day after day with regret. No wonder the world thinks that they're ugly! Happiness and laughter makes us beautiful, I'm in the midst of taking a chance and look forward to dive into new things. To discover myself, my interests. Life is for someone to live it, why let it go to waste? Isn't that right girl? I think Coco thinks so too.
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