A Writer’s Consciousness

It's interesting because I see myself in a cabin in the wilderness writing and eating goat cheese from my goats and harvesting food from my garden and maybe even getting the staples delivered to me by courier. But whenever I am alone on a trip or even in my room where my time is mine I don't write. I don't even try. What's with that? That seems to be my problem more than the anxiety or the "not having the right set up". I fight it like a toddler fights sleep. But I have to write just like he has to sleep. And because I haven't written and because I've fought the creativity that's been in me for so long I've gotten used to the feeling of fighting the ideas or fighting the desire to write . It became the normal. The standard emotional response when I think about writing shit down. I do it in my head so often but even anxiety has taken away that superpower because I can't remember what I said 2 seconds ago let alone what draft of brilliance just left my brain into the ether of what I can only imagine is purgatory.

Maybe Will is right and the answers to my problems and life's problems lies in the wisdom of those that came before us. Not in the contemporary memoir, though there is benefit there especially in seeing how I ft into this crazy ass world we live in. But to study history and to know what struggles writers, men and women, that came before me overcame, or maybe didn't overcome like Sylvia Plath. That would be beneficial to my psyche because then I know I'm not alone. I instead walk in the footsteps of giants. Funny how everything comes back around to that one quote, and statue that I saw daily in college. I wish I remembered more.