Over the past four years something happened, ok maybe a lot has happened over that time. I moved, started/finished grad school, lost/found jobs, made/lost friends, lost/gained weight (this one pisses me off), weddings, births and funerals. Life.
I fancied myself as a creator, I liked to make/write things. Even as a kid I would write stories, act them out with my Barbies and even built my own wagon to carry my stuff around the backyard in. As an adult I wrote still, nothing to be published, but because it was something I felt I needed to do. Whether it was poetry, short stories, or a badly written screenplay, I did it.
McBossy and I even created Rules to Friendship in our early to mid twenties when we felt that some of our friends needed a manual on how to be a decent friend. It's hilarious and one day I'll post it out. Then the Monthly Bitch came in newsletter format and eventually the blog. Letters to friends on both coasts, back and forth, keeping in touch with everyone.
Then suddenly it feels and as I look back it seems even it was like BAM! No more.
Maybe grad school sucked out all my creativity, maybe.
I used to get great ideas or ideas of stories I would write when I had the time. I had to carry around a notebook so I could scribble them down when they came to me. Now...nothing. If there's such thing as a muse, she's run off to be with someone else, tramp. If it's me, that's even scarier. How does one get inspiration again? If it's gone for a certain period of time does it ever return? What if I can never write anything longer than a tweet again? Is creativity like dreaming? I can't remember the last time I woke up remembering a dream. Is it just me?
