Chrisonomicon

Thursday, February 8, 2001

The hours between 11 p.m. and 9 a.m. are supposed to be magical. Tonight, I?ve obviously lost my mojo because these hours ? which are usually my most creative ? find me drained. Physically, emotionally, and creatively exhausted. I want to capture these days in words, but am at a lack of thought, and I worry excessively that they are slipping slowly away from me. Over-analysis of the happiest moments simply kills the euphoria. Letting go is a conscious act that alerts me to the fact that I?m truly enjoying myself, and it becomes a conundrum of thought that actually prevents me from fully letting go. In the end, when I turn to my writing for catharsis, I face a blank, threatening page. Perhaps my dedication to my schoolwork is sapping away the motivation to write, and in many ways, that is an honorable priority. But, somehow, my writing calls and chastises me for ignoring it for so long. After all, a day without writing is a day lost forever. Thus, the daylight hours I devote to homework, the gym, working here and there, and putzing around slowly melt into night. By the time my creative hours arrive, I am too exhausted to take advantage of them. Sleep calls. Perhaps I should take advantage of it. Tomorrow will find more creative juice for me.