Im Tunnel

When I am in my creative tunnel, my handwriting becomes undecipherable. I have to say, on the picture it is easier to read what I wrote than the original page in my journal… Also, my pen gave out… That didn’t happen in a while.

Sometimes, I wish I could go back in time. Not because I have regrets or because I would change things, but because I did things that I don’t know how to do anymore. Like, right now, I can’t write much poetry that makes sense and the ideas for short stories in my head are similar to stories I already wrote. And some of my short stories are really great. It is as if I lost the mental ability (capacity?) to write longer fiction since I began working. And I don’t want to spread negativity and repeatedly write thoughts and words I wrote before… But my emotions are either numbed down from the Sertraline or they are in balance for once. And this somehow goes hand in hand with the small fact that I cannot write. To me, it feels as if my best poems and stories were written when I felt some kind of internal pain; now that I don’t feel this as intensely, the whole purpose and the ideas to write became dormant.

There are still words left in me, and I have to say, I don’t really like that the blog turned into a personal diary – it was never intended as such (but nevertheless, it became just this in 2022).

Last thought for the night:

Did I mention that I love my current job? After having changed jobs three times in one year, and going through all the stages of doubt and fear because of it, I feel good at work. Of course, there are things I don’t like and routines I would change, colleagues that are lazy and others who are overachievers, but – for now, after almost two months, I am happy to go to work. The only thing I miss is the shifts. I really did not think that I would miss the nightshifts, but I do. Also, just between us, the excuse of having to work on holidays and getting out of family obligations that way was quite welcome. And something else: I’ve been thinking about a girl who left the home I worked at some few months before I resigned, I would love to know what became of her and her son. I know she was a strong one and something tells me that she will reach all her goals – but still… That last cigarette we shared and the hugs too; I still think about those.

Thank you

Goodnight 💜❤️💜❤️