Dear Whoever Happens To Hear This Little Conversation I Have With Myself,                                       November 18th, 2012

Me: What have you been doing with your life?

Self: Well you/I’ve read the 2nd Percy Jackson book.

Me: That’s great! But what has come of your 2 NaNo novels you were writing this month?

Self: Well, what happened was……..I don’t know to tell you the truth. It started out with an amazing idea and then you didn’t feel that passion, that desire you get to spill out all your thoughts, all your ideas, your words were boring, senseless, plotless, characterless. In short-nothing happened. You failed per usual and now you, we more specifically, are questioning whether or not you even like writing anymore. If you don’t enjoy writing anymore what else is there? There are no sports. You have no friends. You cannot talk to people easily. What will become of you? Do you like writing anymore? Isn’t that what you always aspired to be when you grew up? Well, what do you have to say for yourself?

Me: Honest to honest, I don’t have anything to say. I feel no happiness, no delight, no joy, no smiling or laughter. My life is void. a waste of space, of air, of oxygen, there is no reason for it’s existance. I’m not benefiting myself or anyone else by being around. Nobody seems to notice, let alone enjoy my presence. What is the meaning of my existence? Is there one? Or perhaps I was a mistake. No my Creator makes no mistakes. What then, pray tell, is the  matter with me? Why can I not create as I did before? Has the one aspect of my life I so enjoyed been tainted by death as well? I fear it is so. And this, above all else, depresses me. That even my beloved escape, I cannot escape to anymore.

Self: You’re not even talking to me your Self anymore. Now you’re just talking all depressingly. Not hoping for pity or understanding but some way to change.

 

I suck at self dialogue. Let it be noted ; add it to the list. I started a writing club and ya think hey in a group full of weirdos I might connect with someone and have a friend just as weird as me- NOPE. I sit by myself even then. I think I must smell or am just that repulsive. I don’t know why I’m talking so formal and eloquent to insult myself. I don’t know why I’m even insulting myself when I’m pretty happy with myself, except I’m not happy. Not in one way. And now I’m doing the one thing I cannot stand and said I wouldn’t do since the beginning of this blog: I’m turning it into a diary about my personal life. Now even my blog isn’t even original, now it’s like the vast majority of blogs out there nothing but diary pages online for everyone in the world with a computer to see. How dumb is that?

Anywho, whoever reads this letter,  and managed to get through all the above, and is reading this right now, what does writing mean to you? Why write? Why choose that form of art to create? These, mainly the first one, is one I’m struggling with, I have to speak in front of my writing club again and have a speech prepared for why I should be president. I mainly think I should be president of the club is because I’m the one that created it. But I can’t just say that. I have to be nice and give reasons and smile and do all that stuff that I’m not fond of. So it would be immensly appreciated if you could throw me a bone(hypothetically of course), and comment below some ideas, I’ll see them, go through, find which ones apply to me and try my best to make a speech. Unless of course you want the other canidates to win, in that case, why are you even reading my blog to start with?

To all my regular patrons, it’s good to be back. I’m so sorry I forgot about my blog. This year as been crazy no? I will return with better, actually meaningful, and somewhat hopefully beneficial posts that are not all about my life. Maybe I’ll even post a short story or two, an excerpt of my NaNo novel, or a book review. Till then I wish you all have a happy Thanksgiving and remember to be thankful for all you have. And I mean all. Even your annoyingly loud neighbor who thinks they can play the clarinet exceptionally well at midnight. ALL.                                                                                                                               -farewell for now, eshy,