Anyone who truly writes can easily identify with the struggles of being, well, a writer...
There are those days when you are constantly jotting notes and thoughts in any journal or notebook around. (this does not exclude the backs of envelopes or napkins either.) These are the times when you feel yourself struggling for a moment to organize your scribbles. When you finally gain the opportunity, you feel your soul seizing with relief- almost as if you are breathing for the first time in a decade.
Oh that artistic oxygen is such a relief...

There is such an unexplainable beauty, in that time of creating and reconnect...

So, why is it that more often then not I reside on the other, more suffocating end of the spectrum?
I haven't even written a letter, in weeks. A LETTER!

It's the balance I can't achieve. Apparently I am an all or nothing writer. If I can't devote myself soulely to writing, then that part of my brain tends to shut down.
Granted, I still have the "work" writing, happening... But even it falls less under the "true writing" category than I'd like.

I had mentioned, some days ago, that I would use this blog to maintain my writing goals.
How pathetic it is that my only goal, at this point, is to write...
Not write for work.
To write for me.
Of me...