Writers Block

Would you marry a writer?

Writers and their overrated blocks. Would you be able to live with someone who would shut you out every so often? Who would have prolonged bouts of depression and extreme mood swings: one minute overjoyed and the next sullen and silent? Someone who'd constantly feel the need to detach himself from you, clear his air of your presence, push you out of his personal space? A writer and his perpetual delusions?

I would. If he were hot enough. LOL.

Would it work if you were BOTH writers, attracting and repelling each other at the same time, bouncing literary quotes off one another? Would you be threatened by the other's success? Or held back by the other's lack of?

"On the other side of attraction lies repulsion."

*****

Is there guilt attached to feeling lucky?

Absolutely. Now that I think about it, it's probably my Numero Uno Problemo. I am guilty of being much more fortunate than my peers or family members. I feel so guilty that I hold myself back and strain against full-fledged success for fear of crossing over the line from Loser City to Great Rewards Metro. I repress myself and put my destructive mode on turbo, and then, when I've damaged my affairs enough, I secretly tell myself that I deserved it for even THINKING I could rise above anyone I know. In a sick way, I still want to be a member of that bitter community that does nothing but sulk and complain about pre-destined misfortune. Most of all, I am afraid of the person I migh turn into if I do become successful, the person I see myself turning into even now. The question now is that, if I do manage to let go of this guilt, would it be of any help?

*****

When did you have your first sensation of the passage of time? Of progress?

I don't remember the first, but I know the moments. It's when I see an old picture, or when I smell a scent that I used to wear, or hear a song I used to dance to, sing-along to. More specifically, when Princess Diana's death anniversary comes around. I remember that day so vividly: my father coming in from work with his newspaper under his arm, smelling of the sun; my mom doing the laundry in the small bathroom of our old house; the smell of the newly-mopped dining room floor; the electric fan in the living room. And yet, this was 10 years ago. There's no telling if THEN was better than NOW. But it sure does remind me that I am 23 and not 13 anymore.

In the words of the unlikely intellectual in that annoying film Tokyo Drift...

"Life is easy. You make choices and you don't look back."

I am tempted to take his advice. It seems like a good idea, if I am to move forward and break the stillness.