So another week has come and gone without nary a clue as to how to end my creative drought. I’ve been working on the homestead quite a bit. It has been stifling to have the living room unchanged since the divorce. Coming home and having nothing look or feel different was pulling me down like an albatross. This past weekend, a friend came over and helped me paint, and then I spent hours moving furniture, hanging posters, putting up pictures, etc. [img]http://www.sonnyboo.com/images1/blog/oct12/livingroom.jpg[/img]
Then I had insomnia, unable to get a wink of sleep as all I did was sit in different chairs or couches and just kind of feel the room out. It has had a positive effect, without a doubt. it just hasn’t opened any magical creative doors. I feel like I can have people come over without me either making up excuses or wanting to slash my wrists (at least cutting open an artery out of shame).
I do not blame my ex about how messy and unsanitary our home had become. That one is a two way street. We were both just playing a contest of wills with two incredibly stubborn people. Who was responsible for what, the inequities of buying dinner or cleaning supplies and everything generic that can possibly come from a 10+ year relationship means neither is more to blame than the other.
Now switching bedrooms, and painting, redecorating, and now with a brand new $1,599 bed I didn’t have to pay for means sleeping is definitely more comfortable. I find myself spending the majority of my Sundays just laying in my bed reading, with a cat or two nearby purring and/or sleeping. I love looking at the light dappling through the leaves as the sun drenches the room. I swear I need to ween my internet addiction for things like this. It may not be creating, but at least it isn’t remotely stressful.
So I’m about to start recording my first ever audio podcast. It’s a creative outlet. Unfortunately, I don’t think I will ever release it publicly. It will be far too personal, way too honest, and substantially too blunt. I need to do it for myself. Like many things I’ve tried recently, it’s just the faint hope that it sparks off the creative energy that can be parlayed into a movie.
Creative impotence is far worse than death. Suicide would be a relief from the anguish this causes me inside. What’s the point of living if you don’t create something? What do I have to live for if I can’t make something I love?