Rambling, rants, and ridiculousness

I told myself I wouldn't write in this blog until I finished my rough draft for the Truman -- but I have writer's block.... Shit, merde... Fuck. (I hate swearing but sometimes this word is necessary. No word quite as concise, succinct)

They say it's easiest to write about yourself. Some of the greatest pieces of literature are autobiographical to a certain extent -- take Sorrows of Young Werther, David Copperfield, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, On the Road etc. A fold of the writer's personality. A fragment of their life they wrote to get out of the way, that needed to be shed, told to anyone listening...we're all inherently narcisstic after all.

Wrapped in our own little worlds. Moving forward and forgetting to look back, or pause the present. Completely self involved. Our problems, worries, and anxieties consuming our daily existence. Being fired, broken up with, and having that deadline hanging over our heads -- all seems to be apocalyptic.

Some writers, you can tell immediately, just like hearing themselves talk -- so to speak, err type. For some, it's therapy. For me, everything I write in this blog works as a bit of a rough draft. Thoughts I want to use for later -- for what? Who knows. I sure as hell don't.

So, here I find myself -- listening to jazz, chain smoking, rereading old entries for inspiration, and thinking procrastinating -- in a small apartment in Paris. I keep looking outside wishing my rough draft would spontaneously start typing itself.

I guess the reason why it's hard to focus is because I'm not writing about myself -- but about the person I want to be. The person I should be. This imaginary person who has yet to come into existence, five to seven years after graduation (that's the prompt I'm working on now). But who on earth ever knows who they want to be at any given point in time?

I try my best not to lie -- but I need to write as if I know what I want to do with my life.

Bahumbug.

In reality, I have dozens of plans -- and I'd be happy with following any of the paths once I get to that bridge, crossroad, moment, point. I have enough trouble deciding what word I want to use in a sentence, let alone choosing a career path. Making a decision now seems meaningless at best. It's so far in the future!... That's not true, but that's how I feel right now. Am I lazy? Unmotivated? Bullshit.

People who seem completely confident, know what they want to do -- I promise, it's all a bluff. Or at least, I think it is. It would surely make me feel better to think that it's all an act.

I want to go explore the city damn it! It's my second day here for god's sake... but I can't justify leaving until I have at least 4,000 characters written.

Where is my muse? Is she exploring Paris now without me? Come back to me. Save me.

Sorry for this half-baked entry. It'll get better. Promise.