I Don't Care Right Now

Whenever I can feel something missing in my writing, I spend a good deal of thought, and a whole lot of walks, trying to figure out exactly what it is. I usually get nowhere because such is the process of self-discovery. You search and you search and you search, blind, in the dark, probably with your hands tied behind your back, and maybe eventually you stumble over something close to a semblance of what you wanted to find. This time though, I've got it. It's right here, in this little envelope that I'll take a deep breath before I open just to give you a moment to consider everything it might be.

I really just don't care about anything enough right now.

You can see it in my posts the last few months. The lack of fire in my scripts for a while. I lost my zest and it isn't just because I've tried so hard to write what people want to hear. That's a symptom, not the problem. The problem is that I don't care.

Before any of you protest, there are important people in my life. Less so than seems normal, but that's not important. People aren't valuable in groups. It's individual. I still have those in my life. Don't worry.

It's that in my twenty-four years, the world has convinced me to stop being passionate. Slowly, carefully it's broken me down and ground my pieces so finely that I've lost my sharp edges. It's hard to make a point without any.

It's told me "Don't get angry, you'll offend someone." "Don't speak too loud, someone might hear." "Don't love that much, they'll think you're crazy." "Don't dance, you'll look stupid." "Don't go out when you can stay in." Don't, don't, don't.

And then, worst of all, it went ahead and was right.

It didn't just know what would happen on the odd occasion. It knew how it'd always be. So I learned, slowly, carefully, to tame myself. Adults aren't wild, after all. They save money and try to treat everyone fairly and only stand up for themselves in their own heads or in the stories they tell their friends that night.

No one domesticated has ever done anything worthwhile.

Inside, I can feel the animal I've contained scratching at me, clawing to get out. If I release him, I'm afraid of who I'll become.

But I'm even more afraid of who I'll become if I don't.