My mornings start with the warm awakening of coffee gilding my throat. Caffeine pumps through my veins and opens my eyes to all the things I could do. I will apply for a new job, work on my newest writing project, read some theology or poetry, answer emails, edit copy, and anything. Anything at all. A little after noon the coffee fades and stubborn will pushes my feet through errands and chores.
At five o’clock I admit that I can stop working, even though nothing I’ve done is “real” work. No one will pay me for any of it. None of it is mentally or physically draining. Sometimes I don’t even leave the house. And it will all be there again tomorrow, the same list of nothingness.
In the morning I cannot see the insignificance of my lists. In the evening, however, I cannot help but know it.
I never write at night. I tell myself that’s because afternoons and evenings are for people. I tell myself that writing takes more energy than people time, so I need to get the writing done while the coffee is fresh. But it’s also because evenings are also for the honesty the day-time productivity lacks.
Honesty. Or pessimism.
Such a fine, fine line.
The end of the day pessimism/honesty is telling me that starting my blog (again) is a desperate attempt at making the work that I do seem real. It declares blog-posting pointless and reminds me about how little variety exist in my life.
“What are you going to write about?” It asks, with an honest/nasty chuckle. “How much you like your rickety hardwood floors?”
“Of course not!” I say, crossing that off the 3-item list of possible blogs I made during the morning’s caffeine rush.
“What else is there? The tragic circumstances that led to you finding out that spiders hate citrus? Or that one time you organized your bookshelves? Scintillating stuff.”
Maybe not scintillating, but certainly the only two remaining items on the blog list. “Why not?” I ask my pessimism/honesty. “People have blogs about cookies! And the positive qualities of Velcro!”
Pessimism/honesty smirks. “Those cookies were delicious. And you’re using the Velcro site, too, aren’t you? Those blogs are useful. Thematic.”
“I’m sure I can write something useful,” I start, but it’s not the morning any more. Pessimism/honesty raises an eyebrow, so I admit, “Maybe not ‘useful.’ But it might be funny?”
“It will be laughable, I’m sure,” pessimism remarks. Honesty adds, “Your mother will probably read it!”
It is also true that I will start blogging again. And that I will write about citrus-hating spiders and probably at least once discuss the bookshelf organizing I’ve completed. It’s true that my life lacks the variety it had while I lived in South Korea, but it also lacks the soul-suck that was graduate school for the last two years.
It’s time to find my voice again. I hope you will listen.