Mad Musings

Writing is amazing and annoying. Ideas take a lot of effort to flesh out. When you live in your head often ideas you once thought were unique feel overplayed and repetitive simply because you yourself have been turning it over in your mind for so long. Often I want to start an idea and it quickly becomes a monumental task that requires me to map out a whole world. How does the magic work? How do people live day to day? Are everyday moments too mundane? I know we want to move the plot along or develop characters. When I was in film school the question was always what does this scene do to further the plot or character’s struggle. What purpose does it serve? But, with film, we are working with a set amount of minutes. That makes sense. There are books that are pages upon pages and when I read I don’t analyze the texts or question whether each scene is necessary. Maybe I should, to better understand, right? That’s what people do when they work with a craft. Turn it inside and out to bette...

       S ometimes days stretch on endlessly. The kind of endless that sinks into the bones. That rests heavily on the muscle. And pulls at the skin. It's a deep-seated discomfort.     As a child, I wrestled with this heaviness often, as an adult, I wrestle with this feeling often. You would think with such a vast head start on coping  with  heaviness I'd be miles ahead of understanding it. You'd think I'd be at grips with the way my soul droops.     Yet instead, I sit here  with lids peeled back wide-eyed and aghast. How could the weight on my shoulders ever compare  To each atrocity  whizzing across my screen? The world has never felt so connected, yet so damn isolating.     The need for comparison, where does it stem from? I wonder. Maybe when the big feelings were too big I was asked to be small compact not life-sized.      What problems could a child possibly have? When I am confronted, by the ...

 Wake up, get up. Doom scroll then gather my things up. The start of each day is this monotonous ritual. It's boring.  Then when something does change it's stupid. It's pointless. It's for no reason at all. I often wonder what the thought process is. Why the sudden bursts of micromanaging. I feel like it's correlated to her being scolded. She finds something she can control. And when I think about that, it's sad. Really sad. Then I'll feel bad for her. Try to be nice to her. Then she'll bother me more and more until I get overly annoyed. This cycle is gross. The changes are pointless. The nitpicking is pointless. What's worse is you barely understand me, so what makes you think that kids with even lower English levels than you will understand me more? The difference is they'll try. They're not afraid to be wrong sometimes and ask questions. "It's fine," I tell myself.  "5 more months," I tell myself. But that's not...