Friday, December 18, 2009

Getting back the Rhythm

It’s either I’m busy or my job is turning me into a dumbass.

Obviously, I haven’t written anything substantial for ages. I believe I wrote some witty, worth-reading tweets, scribbled a couple of quote-like lines, but microblogging isn’t really writing. Writing takes time and effort and the quest for the perfect words. Microblogging is more of smart ranting, babbling and a mere band-aid.

For the last 4 months, my evenings are occupied by, well, work. I spend almost 15 hours in the office daily. And those hours aren’t enough, still. The virtual pile of work hasn’t even diminished. As a matter of fact, it grows by the day and I have no idea how I would catch up. I am praying for a miracle. My weekends, oh free days, pass by with me just sprawled in bed, unbathed and unconscious; happily dreaming, until it’s time to wake up and face the world again- sporting my corpo wear, high heels and baggy eyes.

Needless to say, I am uninspired. If I want to write about interesting rulings, unbelievable client practices and work recommendations, then perhaps I can write a good 5-page instantly. No sweat. But I just don’t miss writing per se. I miss writing about life, about emotions underneath a heavy blanket. I miss writing about seeing a saturated rainbow of beginnings outside my office window, where everyone else would have just seen taller buildings and tainted walls. I miss seeing a pearl white page turn into black and white with unforced words and a soothing song in the background. I miss it. I missed it big time.

So one day, when, unexpectedly, my bosses didn’t turn out for work, I forced myself to write again. Let’s call that day today.

Today, I braved facing the computer, opening a word file and not the usual celled worksheet. I stumbled at first, pressing the backspace button more often than striking actual keys. But I got the rhythm soon after, and now I got this page almost filled.

All the while I was waiting for the perfect time, the perfect moment. That one sunny afternoon when my head isn’t clouded, and I wouldn’t be able to stop my fingers from striking the keys. But it never came. I got frustrated, up to the point of avoiding the idea of writing altogether. And then it just hit me. All it took is the courage to sit in front of a computer and bare the torture of staring at a blank page and a blinking cursor. Writing is a process. And for me that process starts with the state of being lost, being clueless, until I find my way again.

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