I'm hitting a bit of a wall right now. I just moved in with the boyfriend (yay!); his place is virtually devoid of storage (yikes!), so all my stuff has been lying around on the floor. I am flat broke and a week away from payday. I have to pay for laundry now so obviously I haven't done any in the last two weeks. The only food we have is two raw chicken breasts and a 3-pound block of cheese, and I'm off grains right now because my naturopath recommended it but guys, it is FUCKING HARD to make a meal without a goddamn grain in it (hello! Rice! I miss you!). And I have a headache, because quitting Coke Zero is tough and I don't even really want to but, again, no money, so even if I did want some, shoplifting requires stealth and I do not have any.
Last night I curled up on the floor in the fetal position, berating my (too, too patient boyfriend) about his ambivalence towards wanting to go to Burning Man. I don't even know where Burning Man is, but I wanted to go. Later, after I unfetaled myself and took a cool sip of water, I admitted that, now that Iceland and moving in together are behind me, and I'm no longer living in co-operative housing, and my job is working me 40 hours a week, I'm a little bored with myself. The fun, looking-forward-to-it parts are over, for now, and the hard slog towards unpacking and getting settled (and replacing all the 40-watt bulbs in his apartment replaced with something a little brighter) just seems unending.
(Not that I'm not totally stoked to be living with The Main Guy. [To be fair, he's The Only Guy, but that seems weird to say.] He's awesome and funny, thoughtful and sweet. But it's a tough adjustment to be around someone all the time; I'm an introvert! We need our time alone. I think I've been by myself for, like, an hour in the last two weeks. An hour. One hour.)
And my writing totally fell off this summer. I love writing for those other blogs, but sometimes, I stare at the screen and I feel despair. What am I supposed to be doing, exactly? Being pithy? About stuff? Man. Okay. And despite the fact that I know, from experience, that creative ebbs and flows are a part of life, it still knocks the wind out of me every time. I spent a solid six months this year being prolific as hell, working like a champ at the day job and writing two or three other posts each week. Now, even this blank page is a struggle, and this blank page is my writing home.
I know I sound like an ungrateful asshole. I know that changes are tough, and that after a while, what's new will stop being so new, and some footing will be found, and I can relax and go back to being my awesome, confident self. I know that. So I just have to keep writing, unpack one box at a time, and figure out what to look forward to next.