Blank

Clearly I am supposed to be working on an essay I have to send off in a week, otherwise I would not have completed several tasks I've been putting off because they make me grumble. Yes, it is a procrastination day. I need a new intro, and possibly some theory. Gah. It's super good that the essay has been accepted, I just don't want to finish it. Enough complaining.

Our apartment is shaping up nicely. I found an utterly extravagant item at Goodwill that I will never use but just had to buy.


My review has been sent off (thank you for the encouragement on that post). Our washing machine was fixed this morning, so I made some progress in the battle against dirty laundry. I also made some progress in the battle against dirty dishes (not much, but some). I just realized that my blog has become a diary instead of a place where I muse and tell stories.

I hate diaries. I could never keep one for more than a week as a kid. I love blank journals--the empty pages, the pretty covers, the decorative flourishes on the first line of each page that clearly say, "I have something important to say." But I never had anything important to say. My life was boring. In a diary I kept in fourth grade, there are a few entries, but most of it was blank. On one page, it says "I loaned Cassie a dollar. She will pay me back." (or rather "said," as I tossed it). No plot, no intrigue. And as we all know, I like plot.

We have most of the apartment unpacked, and last week I unpacked a box of blank journals. People buy them for me because they think I will use them. They know I write. They know I read. They know I like things with pages. But I never use them. I want to use them, but I don't know what to write in them. I love them; they're pretty; they sit on a shelf in my closet. Harry Potter, Star Trek, The Lady and the Unicorn, blue with embossed flowers, plain orange, moleskin, black and silver with magnetic clasp. They sit next to my stationary and fountain-pen nibs. I do all of my writing at the computer now. Editing I do with pen and paper, but composing is on a black keyboard and a white screen.

How do you make yourself want to do something? I want my essay to be done. I want the publication. I like the essay. I presented it at a conference. I really don't want to work on it right now, but I really need too so I can show it to a prof for one last read before sending it off.