Saturday, March 13, 2021

My Habitual Time Sucks

 Shortly into February I took a break, or at least greatly reduced my social media use. I thought it would for sure lend me the time I needed to get back to writing and creating. Ahhh.... Not so much. I had envisioned this waterfall of creative energy just leaping out from my inner, now more focused thoughts. While I did have more focus during this dry spell of social media, it did not produce the time I expected it to in the way of large, uninterrupted blocks. I guess that's maybe what part of the allure is of scrolling endlessly through posts, pictures and videos. We only have a few seconds, maybe a minute, so we pick up our phone to check notifications. Nothing wrong with that. For me, seconds turn into minutes and by the end of the day I feel like I've mindlessly scrolled my day away in small chunks of time. I feel annoyed with myself and vow to do better tomorrow, but then tomorrow comes and with it the same hectic schedule while I once again take micro-breaks with my phone that leave me unsatisfied and overwhelmed. 


What I yearn for is a meaningful experience. A genuine connection. Those can be had online. I'm not one to dismiss the value of internet friendships. There are quiet places tucked away online where we can find kindred spirits and the interaction is full of depth and human connection. I am grateful to have found a couple of such corners. But, somehow inside of my primitive brain lies the belief that more is better, so I set out to find a hit or two of dopamine in the way of scrolling and app surfing.


I guess I am just thinking out loud, so to speak. I don't have an answer to all this and am not expecting any from my readers. I find it a productive process to empty the contents of what has been lurking within my brain, going into circles onto a page of neat lined words, and pretty paragraphs. This is a physical release that allows me to view everything from a different perspective than the one I have as a running stream of thoughts inside my mind. 


When I began blogging something like twelve years ago it was mostly about my children's autism. Then that shifted to advocacy. I also became aware of my own autism during this last decade, so I filled many pages about my own experience as a woman with Asperger Syndrome.  A few years ago I opened the content to include my thoughts on introversion, as well. My particular writing style has bent and shaped itself around these topics offering new paths for me to explore as a writer. I think it is this style I like the most. There is no point to prove or confining topic to be boxed into with free style writing. The words flow as they are inside of my thoughts onto this space with the only challenge being for me to adequately piece them all together in a way that conveys my vibrant inner world to readers.

As I work to assess my habits concerning time management I hope that I can slowly reintroduce the idea of journaling a few times a week to as a tool for introspection. I think it would be helpful to me, despite if anyone else were to read what I write, or comment about it or not. 


If you are reading this and want to reply, do you do any sort of journaling? What kind? If not, what is your creative outlet that allows you to release your emotions?

Sunday, January 24, 2021

Couch Days

This was definitely a couch day. 

I awoke to colorful kaleidoscope images growing until the patterns disperse like fireworks in a 4th of July sky behind my eyelids. At the moment of semi-conciousness where my slumber ends and I fill into my body from the dream world far away I am welcomed by these dizzying colors. I open my eyes to try to focus through the fragmented light patterns as they fade into the dimmed sunlight that crosses the foot of my bed.

It's a migraine and vertigo state I have found myself in.


These days are not long, or short. They just are. Malaise and melancholy are states of being that defy time. It's an awareness of pain, confusion and blurred content all at once. It's a brain fog that submerged all thoughts into a dense tangle, leaving me to wonder what I came into rooms to do, or finding myself in front of an open refrigerator with forgotten plans. I wander through these days feeling far away and lonely, as if the physical pain wasn't enough. 

I find some kind of solace in the routines I follow for comfort. I settle into my favorite spot on the couch. The familiarity of this spot, of the space that I call home envelopes me. Strangely, these walls feel both confining and soothing. I'm both grateful and resentful for this life. 

It's approaching midnight, pulling this day to a close. I stare out the window before making my way to bed. The January sky is a muted glow of heavy clouds, illuminating the bare branches of the trees. Maybe snow? Winter nights feel so hushed and still. I love the way street lamps light the empty streets and glowing windows dot the houses with cozy people inside. 

Surely the morning will greet me with a different story than today, a blank narrative for me to influence.