sad - gloomy - melancholic - mournful - dismal - blue
I've always liked that word. I find that I use it a lot when I write. WHEN I write. Which is where I'm heading with this. I think I subconsciously have been using that word because it is something I have felt for some time. How long exactly, I'm not sure. Yet I can no longer overlook that little nagging feeling that something is missing. It's the little subtle hints that have been a constant barrage almost daily. Fortunately, I'm becoming aware of this. Sometimes a song sets it off. Maybe it's an image. Whatever it is that causes my senses to awaken, I am realizing that I must continue to create. It doesn't matter if it's writing or music, my mind must have an outlet. I cannot continue to shut off the flow of ideas or it will slowly kill me. I think that over the last decade I have let myself slip off into complacency, which I have nobody to blame but myself, but I can attribute to no longer being in a band and no longer writing as I used to. My website never got off the ground as I had hoped, partly because I didn't have the time to dedicate to it as it would have required, and partly because the pressure of trying to make it into something decent was stymieing any creative energy that I may have been able to expend on it. So after the music shut off, and the website became a bust, I shut down. It had been a process that was taking place gradually, but that was the final straw more or less. Since then, I've struggled to force myself to write a little blog post here each month. Yesterday, in the middle of a hurried workday, I had one of those little moments of awakening. I heard a song. It got stuck in my head. I listened to it a half a dozen times, and again this morning coming to work. So now I am feeling like I need to start writing again. A lot. I should not let my thoughts go. They should go here, on a blog that is free. So I have no pressure to pay for it, or try and generate revenue off of it. It's just for me. My outlet. That feels right. Maybe along the way, I can finally let go of this job that has been killing me as well. I don't know how exactly to pull it off, but I must find a way to provide for my family that doesn't consume me. I am more than my job. I am more than the amount of money I bring home each week. After all, in the end, the job won't matter at all. It will only be the things that I have written that will live on in the memories of those that knew me. No one will care what my income was when I'm gone. I need to remember that now, while I'm alive.
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