Finding time to write…
I’m told that writers don’t need to find time to write, they just do it.
I’ve started a full time accounting job. It’ll be for the entire summer. My work ethic provokes me into putting my full attention into the work I need to do. I must become the master of general ledger account numbers, know the ins and outs of payroll, learn all the intricacies of individual workers and the tapestry that’s woven with labor hours and allocation codes. I must be the best and know everything. When I am asked what gl camp memberships come out of, I will rattle off ten digit account codes like I was born with them. This was the life I led for ten years, this is the programming I thought I left behind. It’s all still there.
The last two years of my life as a student of Fine Art feel like a rubber band that was stretched out. Finding myself in this seat at this desk stings like the snap of that elastic resuming it’s relaxed state. This is not where my energy should be.
I need to find time to write every day.
Correction.
I will make time to write every day.
There is a graphic novel revealing itself in glimpses and flashes in my brain. Numbers and gl codes are piling up on top of it and making it hard to see.
Time is something I need to steal. Writing here and now is criminal.
The conflict between where my energy is and where it should be…
Interruptions make it hard to think.
Words on the screen that don’t mean a thing.
At least I wrote something down.
