"nobody questions anything in this country anymore. everyone's got a cell phone that will make pancakes and rub their balls for them. [we are] way too prosperous for our own good."
[a programming note: this is my second attempt at this post, because i am so far out of practice that i refreshed my browser before publishing the post and lost it all. honestly, though, that hit me just like it did when i was a kid blogging on the internet and gave me a kind of "alright motherfucker" energy with which i... waited three days to write this again.]
long story short, my therapist thinks i should be writing. maybe even writing publicly. so here i am, being a good patient, doing the thing, one day at a time.
it's sort of timely, because a year ago this week i was in partially hospitalized for a bunch of mental health issues. imagine the bad ones, and maybe pull it back like slightly, but not too slightly. anyway, i spent a month there. it sort of reset who i thought i was.
a long time ago in a galaxy yada yada i found my way out of the small town through writing every day for an audience of people i didn't know. i had to "fill two screens" of the text box in my homemade CMS, every day. Did I often
Write
like this? yeah. it sort of became a style built out of unexpected consequences. it also propelled me out of my passive acceptance of being a "computer kid", allowing me to extend the conception of myself into something... more? sure. something more.
it was good for me, i think.
why did it stop? it's a long story i'll tell here at some point, but needless to say i left my daily public meditation by the side of the road in exchange for crashing through my 20s and early 30s, collecting up all the experiences i had been sheltered from and packing them away in the back of the attic for a rainy day.
somewhere in there, during my undergrad years, i switched from a 5 year Computer Engineering program to a 4 year Creative Writing program. everyone said i was a good writer, so why not chase your skills. why not. why not.
adult life being defined by the job and the salary and the insurance really fuckin' took a toll on me. i went to grad school to make more money, but basically also just increased my cost of living an incredible amount at the same time. the stupid treadmill still takes a toll on me. i don't know how creatives can be their full selves and keep a roof over their heads. i'm all or nothing. all gas, no breaks as the kids say. it always felt completely incompatible to try and "do both"
and so i don't know, maybe bottling that up for too long in the service of "adulting" was not that healthy for me. maybe i need that process, that sort of public evacuation of ideas and feelings; maybe i shouldn't feel so bad about wanting an audience. maybe i need some extrinsic motivation.
this is all my therapist, by the way. "hey maybe if people told you they like what you did, you wouldn't want to not wake up." jesus doc... when you put it that way...
so here i am, writing again. i think. i hope. i have a few ideas for stories i'd love to get down before my hands stop working. i have a lifetime of experiences and scenes to pull from. i have things to give, both from my personal life and my professional life, and they aren't doing me any good rattling around in my spray paint can of a head.
so here are some ground rules for myself and for you:
whatever that quote in movies about unintentional coincidences applies here. no real names. no totally truthful writing but with intense transparency. writing that feels truthful, so truthful that it might be about you.
i owe this fuckin text box words twice a week. i can do that. we can do it, together. i believe in us.
so yeah. first post! that used to be a thing.
it is very weird to be a 40 year old internet kid. what a world.
what i'm reading: Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King
what i'm listening to: Infinity Knives x Brian Ennels - everyone i love is depressed:
what i'm stuck on: how depressed am i allowed to be vs. want to be vs. need to be vs. compelled to be.
now and forever your friend,
-allen