Fearful of Productivity, Proud of Inaction

There is nothing stopping me from writing but myself. Not one little thought exists that has such a persuasive pull as to jerk me from my keyboard (physical or otherwise). It's only me. Little introverted me that continuously stops my creative flow.

It saddens me. I have so much I want to say yet nothing is written. In my head I see myself stall. I'll look straight ahead, think "We’re going to write", and then...nothing. I never get past the thought. I never start writing or brainstorming. I just stop.

Sometimes I'll distract myself. Usually I just do nothing. I stare straight ahead and keep staring. I stare at points that don't exist, willing them to apparate, waiting for anything to break my concentration.

The energy I use thinking about writing is inevitably diverted to non productive gestures. It's funneled, pruned, puréed, and expunged. I just stare and stare till my eyes sting and my forehead creases.

Then I give up. I find something easy to do and forget my urge to write. I push it down and away. Disowned, abandoned, forgotten.

Better to remember a past without failed attempts. Better for my heart, not for my soul.

And so nothing is written, nothing is said, nothing is shared. My eyes burn, my mind churns.

Thankfully I've saved myself the shame of failure. The only cost was passivity. Inert and unproductive, yet wildly successful.