Feeling Really Lost

Lately I have had some major writers block.

A lot of what I do at my day job revolves around creativity in writing, graphic art and brainstorming new unique ideas. As my job demands more of my brain I find my myself unable to accomplish all I want to do with my blogging.

I never want blogging to become a job, or something I feel guilty about walking away from for a few days. Unfortunately my inner nature does not allow me to avoid this guilt so when I missed my first Sephora Saturday post last week I have felt miserable ever since.

This week my effort outside of work has been to keep moving on a story I started called Call Me Ishmael. This story developed from a Daily Prompt and has become a real creative outlet for me. After getting some really useful feedback from Izzy Grabs Life I have felt compelled to write more and write better. I want to be deserving of the time and effort other bloggers have put into reading my posts and writing comments to help me grow as a writer.

If you have experienced this same writers block please let me know how you’ve handled it. Are there any particular tricks to getting the creative juices flowing when they have basically run dry?

Thanks so much for all the feedback, I appreciate all the comments, as each one helps me become a better blogger.

Call Me Ishmael Part 1
Call Me Ishmael Part 2

Call Me Ishmael | Part 2

His silent departure no longer bothered me like it used to. The first time he appeared in my room did startle me and it took about two weeks and a few visits to a therapist to convince myself I wasn’t crazy. I turn back to the stack of cardboard boxes and resign myself to a day of unpacking.
My move to London about a month ago had been surprisingly smooth for a last minute decision. My family did not take the news well but they understood. My mother had been the first and only person, besides the therapist, that I told about seeing him again. It was my mothers idea that I seek the help of a therapist first and then when I found out about the dream marketing job that could take me across the Atlantic ocean and away from all my memories of him it was her who told me to go. I think she thought that I could leave him behind and I did for about a week and then he showed up again in my new apartment and I decided to stop running. His presence had become comforting even though I knew it was unhealthy.
The unpacking took the rest of the day and he didn’t come back until I returned from bring the boxes down to the recycling. He was sitting on my couch staring at the wall so I walked over and sat next to him without saying anything. We just sat there both staring at the wall, neither of us talking, neither of us needing to as we both just found comfort in the silence together. My stomach growling is what eventually broke the quiet and I got up to fix myself a sandwich in the kitchen.
“It is so strange never being hungry.” he says as I close the refrigerator. He has moved from his position on the couch to a stool at my kitchen island.
“I wish I knew what that felt like. I would be a lot skinnier.” I say trying to lighten his mood.
“You don’t need to be any skinnier you are beyond beautiful just the way you are. Besides you have lost weight this past month. I suppose that is my fault. You always forget to eat when I am around.” as I come around the counter and take the empty seat next to him. He turns so we are facing each other and smiles at my sandwich.
“Peanut butter & jelly?” He says with a smirk.
“Hey,” I say with a frown “ I haven’t had time to grocery shop and I only have this cause mom sent it from the states.”
He doesn’t say anything and continues to sit silently next to me as I force down the sandwich and a glass of water. Once I finish I clean the dishes and put them away. He follows me around the house as I get ready for bed. Tomorrow is Monday which means back to work so I take extra time setting out my outfit and organizing my bag. The firm I work for is full of young professionals, almost all from the UK and so I find myself attempting to blend in with them as much as possible. This means putting extra thought into my clothes and accessories so that I don’t scream American.
“You are working tomorrow?” he asks.
“Yes.” I say and see him frown.
I change into my pajamas and climb into bed, turning off the bedside lamp. He is barely visible in the dark laying atop the covers so I turn to lay on my side facing him. He reaches over and pulls the comforter up to cover my shoulder.
“Don’t go.” I say fighting to keep my eyes open.
He reaches out and tucks some stray hair behind my ear. I lean forward into his touch instinctively moving my hand up and over to where his chest should be and feel the top of my quilted comforter. I open my eyes and he’s gone.

If you like this post be sure to check out the Daily prompt post that started it all here “DAILY PROMPT | Call Me Ishmael” and be sure to follow Lost Girl if you want to continue the story.

DAILY PROMPT | Call Me Ishmael

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror* cursing my unruly hair knowing my frustration had less to do with my hair and everything to do with the man standing behind me. Our eyes meet through the reflection in the bathroom mirror and I instantly relax dropping my brush on the counter. I turn to face him and he reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers brush my ear and I feel a cool tingle race down my back. I want to lean forward and rest my face against his chest but I know I can’t. The frustration creeps back in and I step out of the bathroom and out of his reach knowing he will follow me anyway.

Walking down the hall and into my room I turn on the light and begin searching for my favorite pair of jeans. I find them at the top of a pile of cardboard boxes, which I still have not unpacked even though I moved into this new apartment almost a month ago, and pull them on. He is sitting on the bed watching me and I realize I am not embarrassed by this. Granted he isn’t looking at me like he wishes I was taking clothes off rather than putting them on. His stare suggests vague interest like when your flipping through the television channels trying to find something to watch.

“You know if you’re bored you don’t have to be here.” My words come out a bit more harshly than I anticipated and I sigh frustrated with myself.

“Boredom is not something I feel anymore.” he says getting up to come stand in front of me.

I notice his brown eyes look sadder today than usual and I instantly regret what I said. I want him here all the time regardless if he is bored or not. I take a moment just looking up at his square face and short brown hair. I wish right now more than ever I could touch him. I have always been better at expressing how I am feeling with a touch than with words. I reach up as if to touch him and he steps back out of my reach.

“It isn’t fair.” I say dropping my hand and my head.

“Life’s not fair kid.”

“You know I hate when you call me kid.” I say looking up but he is already gone.

*The book I chose was Fifty Shades of Grey.

If your interested in being a Lost Girl or Lost Boy (or any other oxygen breathing organism) then come back tomorrow because I bet it’s a lot more fun being lost together. To make it easy just press the “Follow” button on the upper right hand side of this page and get email updates every time I post.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/call-me-ishmael/”>Call Me Ishmael</a>

RPC

If there was ever a moment I did not think of you it is gone now. You are constantly running through my mind. In memories but mostly in fantasies since our time together was cut short. You are the hero of my fantasies, someone who understands me and knows just what to say. You made me feel safe. Everyone says its alright to be angry but I’m not angry. There is no word I know that can describe the mix of feelings I have. It reminds me of that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach as you slam on the car breaks right before impact. You know your about to hit but you can’t stop or avoid the collision and you have no idea if your going to make it.

I wonder if that is how you felt everyday. Like your life was a constant collision and you weren’t sure you could make it. I suppose that is the risk we all take everyday we decide to wake up. Life is just this constant car crash that you can’t predict the outcome of. You have to just keep getting in the car day after day hoping for the best. Some of us can’t deal with this constant uncertainty. We have too many questions, fears, and sadness inside us to keep getting in the car. And if you stop getting in the car, what is the point of waking up?

Is there no hope for me? We both seemed to have such a logical view of the world even with the darkness inside us. If you could not keep going how can I?