Edit: This was supposed to have been published on 10/24 when it was written, but I fail at WordPress now, apparently.
I went to an of Montreal show last night and started a new medication regimen today.
Consequently, I feel capable of actually writing tonight. Year in and year out of academic discourse had (has?) left me with a self-imposed inferiority complex about my writing; I have spent so much of the past few years writing to impressively fell or build arguments while casually showcasing my masterful diction and analytic skill that writing to simply decompress or expurgate an idea or mood that’s banging around inside me seems foreign and terrifying. Ironic given that it was once the most natural thing to me in the world. A loss that’s a result of growth in other areas? Who’s to say. Not me, certainly.
Creative barriers both biological and egomaniacal aside, I am trying to channel the wisdom of Kevin Barnes (the front man of the aforementioned ‘of Montreal’) and not imagine a specific audience when I’m writing. This is difficult. While I do in fact primarily keep this blog for my own record-keeping purposes (no matter how poor), it is very hard for me to disengage my current one-sided communication from the idea that perhaps the written word will somehow once again become what it was to me in years past, will somehow give me a voice that speaks of things beyond surface depth. In doing so, my thoughts are naturally permeated by fictitious conversations which I vaguely hope will happen and it is hard not to let them run rampant.
There is more that I would like to say, but I feel like it would make for a very messy entry. Perhaps I will keep notepad open and do the whole “stream of consciousness” thing tomorrow and post anything fruitful which results? While I hope that I feel inspired to write about nothing in particular again soon, I will make no promises to do so; I have roped far more than enough albatrosses around my neck as it is.