Journal Entry #105: All I Got is Saturday with Less Sarcasm

Denise Gould, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

It’s 9/11 today. The 20th anniversary year when the Twin Towers were hit by planes and then collapsed in NYC. I feel bad for those still struggling with the loss of their family members, friends, and co-workers who died that day or after that day due to injuries and suicide. Anything as catastrophic that fundamentally cuts your safety net out from under you is bound to send you back a few feet if not miles. Survivorship after something tragic happened is a concept that is very familiar to me and also foreign. I’ve never been one to have survivor’s guilt. I had the opposite. The other part of experiencing something horrific is trying to work through and around it. Basically, cope with how it affected you as an adult. While others may feel comfortable with their stories about mental illness and issues, it still bothers me when I’m talking about myself. This is probably why I’m procrastinating on returning to my second novel idea because it’s more personal. I haven’t figured out how to write the story the way I want it to be written where I’m completely satisfied. Something is missing within my mental outline on how it will be perceived. It will pack more of a punch, have more meaning as an autobiography, but with it comes less freedom for creativity. The emotional part of it seems too removed as it is currently written as a fiction story but it is necessary for me to do this. I suppose shedding my fears of making it too dirty, too horrible, too violent, too real for readers shouldn’t be what prevents me from writing it the way I want to even as a fiction story. So with this in mind, I’m waiting for the day to visit NYC in the future (have no idea when) and experience new things and maybe find some inspiration along the way. I’m reflecting on how I felt last year, how I wished things had changed in 2021, and what the rest of 2021 actually looks like. This is reality hitting me in the face with many caveats and no concrete answers. I’ve been living a life with non-answers for the last two years and while I wonder what will happen in 2022, a lot of my questions seems useless. It’s going to be what it’s going to be. Sure, I have some control over my life but in many ways I have little. A part of me wants to thaw out and get back into a routine. The one I used to know and crave. A part of me thinks what’s the freaking point. Nothing seems to be going how I envisioned, very far from the mark, and while it could be worse, it doesn’t bring much comfort when I hear the words. That’s all I have to say for today.

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