There’s this wall. This brick wall. It’s like, as tall/long/wide whatever as that wall in China. Look Susan, I am NOT turning to google to fact-check whether that wall still exists but I can only imagine it must because that shit would take forever to knock down and then another 67 forevers to clean up and China is like super busy so who the fuck would have time for this outer space level of clean-up? I mean come on. Ok I’m done with this
Let’s get back to MY wall. It’s cemented to the root of my brain and it’s impossible to knock down. No matter how much I’ve kicked and punched and screamed and cried and willed for it to disappear, it remains…harder than a [insert your reference to something super hard here _________________ ] (and yea, you’re welcome) and taller than my forehead. That was mean. Don’t be mean to yourselves boys and girls. Embrace your heads. I’ve gathered all the feelings- the good, the bad, the ugly-and rolled them all up into this emotional wrecking ball inside of myself and still, this fucking wall stands, prouder than a fluorescent LGBTQIAPK parade marching in the name of Love beneath a smiling triple rainbow on a super humid Sunday morning. Do we want to talk about that? Not really. Now’s not the time. My wall. Focus on my wall. Is that so hard to do?!
Right. “The Wall.” Back to that.
I’ve been dealing with the worst imaginable case of writer’s block, ever!
And I mean, I should probably just delete that entirety of this post before this part because that was ALL like 56 paragraphs worth of not getting to the point, but then that wouldn’t be very Ely-like now would it?! Like if it doesn’t take me 796 pages of senseless word-vomit to get to “the point” then it’s a sham. I’ve been hacked. Don’t fall for that kind of non-fuckery! Run! Notify the authorities. Well? Don’t just sit there reading this post- do something! I’m kidding. Keep reading this post.
Ok I’m “done” again. Except I’m not.
You see, I’ve been through this before. Same old song and dance. It’s kind of like the flu. But Actually? It’s kind of nothing like the fucking flu Jesus Ely get it together. It’s kinda like. Welp. It’s kinda like not being able to WRITE for unknown reasons which probably consist of lack of inspiration, time, energy, motivation, kids, jobs, life. Side hustles. Opening a new business on top of side hustles and full time day jobs. Overbooking cake orders. Whatever. You catch my drift.
But things really take a turn for the worse once so much time has passed that when you finally start to miss the writing enough to sit down and do the writing- you begin to question yourself, your motives, and your material to the point of zero. fucking. writing.
And just like that, suddenly, it’s so much harder than it ever was to just write. Suddenly, the physical act of writing, becomes impossible- despite the fact that you’ve been doing it your whole fucking life.
Suddenly, you need to brush up on your grammar, write a thousand drafts that will never see the light of day, read more because “reading makes a better writer”, and do all this blog-research all over again -which is disturbing and super draining, by the way-and suddenly, you forget why you ever even started to write to begin with when you were 7 years old.
Suddenly you forget that you write not to impress anyone with a flawless skillset and a fancy word-load but rather, to release your demons and your butterflies out into the universe, with hopes that someone (anyfrigginone), somewhere (anydamnwhere) will read your words and feel something (anylittlething).
You forget that you write to make a difference, regardless of how minuscule that difference may be in the real world where differences are measured by their financial impacts, scientific breakthroughs, or social media views/likes/follows.
Suddenly? You forget how to do the thing that saved your life. Multiple times. The thing that stopped you from stopping yourself- permanently.
You forget how to do the thing that gave you wings and set you free from the shackles of your own reality which you locked around your own damn ankles and which you then bolted to the cold stone grounds.
Suddenly, you forget how to do the thing- this magical fucking thing that made this nasty world just tolerable enough to stay in it.
How can you forget such a powerful thing.
How could I have forgotten?
Maybe I never did.
It’s all coming back to me now.
This was my wrecking ball.
Fuck you, wall.