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Because I usually am in Vino ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** In 2009, I gave up my studies as a medievalist and musician, left my home, my family, my life and moved to Provence in southern France for a guy. In 2012, I moved away from him to study wine. Today, I'm a vagabond sommelier working in Paris at one of the oldest and most famous restaurants in the world, struggling to find some purpose to what I deem the rest of my life. I'm still married and after 8 10 years, I'm still trying to fit-in with French life and culture and to understand why the French are the way they are. Because they're weird in a different way that I think Americans are weird. Perhaps it's me who's weird. |
| What's been the most upsetting about the past week is how little I want to write. I'm still doing my 1500 words a day. I'm still pushing through and as long as I continue through the next 3 days I'll have reached my NaNo goal of 45,000 words. I've even done some work on my new project here and there. But it's a struggle. I don't want to work. I don't want to write. I push the 1500 words out of me then immediately close my file and never think about it until the next afternoon when I force myself to go through it again. What's more upsetting is that the 1500 words is not all that hard for me. If I really push and don't worry too much about what I'm writing (which I haven't been lately), I can get it done in less than 45 minutes. I do realize that writing is not a pleasure all the time. It's like any art form or any job - however you want to look at writing - there are always moments when it's not pleasurable and more of a chore than anything else. But ... I expected it to be less of a chore. I expected my motivation to come back the more I forced myself to do it. It worries me. Maybe I don't want to be a writer anymore. Maybe I don't want to look for a new career (I have an idea on that score but I haven't pursued it beyond thinking about the idea). Maybe I just want to do the job I have now and then zone out and retreat into my head the rest of the time. Continue to go home and sleep on my breaks. Run because I run. Shop. Play computer games. And watch my life just roll on by. All the things I wanted can slip through my fingers so quickly. And I seem to be at war with myself; a large part of me seems to want to let them go. The years could pass by without another thought. It's hard to believe I'll be 39 in a couple of months. I don't have a grey hair on my head. This is not the battle I wanted to fight. I wanted to find motivation and inspiration with this time off, this time of confinement and isolation and opportunity. I wanted to find these things in the hope that I would also find myself again. I know that I can't be the person I used to be, but I'd at least like to get some of my groove back. I might be less naive, more realistic and yes, more pessimistic than I was before, but I also can't believe that I'm really ready to give up yet. I just want to find my groove. I wanted to find some pleasure in life again. Maybe that is why I'm always so tired. Why I have a hard time sleeping at night and getting up in the morning. I feel like I have nothing to live for. |
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I think it's awesome that you're using that negative experience to get creative. It's hard not to just wallow when those things happen. I use a paper journal for most of my actual coping process too, but I do share bits and pieces on WDC as well.
Might try a short story a day instead. Stay safe. 
