Needed To Be Written

I’ve told myself that I can be one of those writers that writes everyday. That I should write everyday. That I’m actually capable of writing everyday. But as my writing lulls increase in size and space within the back of my mind, I find that I can’t actually write everyday. Somedays nothing, at all, comes to me. It’s all a blank dark shadow. I try to imagine myself writing something eloquent and moving but nothing comes to mind. Nothing comes or goes…anywhere.

I’ve grown accustom to the nothingness. It’s no longer a bad thing that overshadows me. Writing to me isn’t just about writing. It’s about writing something that I will be proud of. Something that I will appreciate and admire and respect. After all, everything I write has my name on it.

When I look at my blog and see that days or maybe even weeks have gone by without a new post, I used to think that I wasn’t being the writer that I could be. That I wasn’t utilizing each and every outlet I had for writing. That I wasn’t doing what I thought I was supposed to be doing.

tumblr_mnnil3X31Q1s9tsjuo1_500But I can’t write if I feel like I have to do it. I don’t want to have to write. When I write, it’s because I have something to say, or even not say. When I have visions in my mind and words running through my head. I know the limits to my writing and I know when something I write isn’t up to my standards of “quality” writing. And on those days, or writing those posts, that “Publish” button will never get pushed. It’s not worth it and it’s not my best effort.

Although this post isn’t about anything particularly groundbreaking and it might not be able to insight some kind of reaction, it’s still something that I needed. It’s something that needed to be written.

Write to write. Write because you need to write. Write to settle the rage within you. Write with an internal purpose. Write about someone or something, that means so much to you, that you don’t care what others think

An Offer I Couldn’t Refuse

We’re only as insignificant as we let ourselves be.

I found that what was being offered was not something I could pass up. I had to act quickly. Otherwise this opportunity would slip through my fingers and be lost forever. I’d never come this close to having what I wanted before. I used to think that I could just sit back and wait for something great to happen. But I’ve come to realize that I can’t do that. Fate is just an excuse people use for not making things happen. I was going to make things happen for me. Finally. I wasn’t going to let this one chance silently float away, leaving me with nothing but regret. Regret is no friend of mine, nor should it be yours. I’m going to take my life into my own hands and do what I want with my time here. In reality, this offer seems almost too good to be true. As if it came up from a long sought after dream. But even if I’m dreaming, my wants have not changed. They will continue to remain the same in my dreams and my waking hours. I will take this opportunity by the hand and run off into the sunset. I will create my own happy beginning.

So what is this offer that I simply couldn’t refuse, you might ask? Well, I’ll tell you.

Why yes, I would love to spend the rest of my life with you Mr. Hiddleston. Thank you for asking.

It Won’t Happen to You…

There was a shooting outside my apartment last night.

Right across the street. Next to the Laundromat and some fried chicken place.

I could see everything from my bedroom window.

Police cars, ambulances, fire trucks, people screaming, people standing and watching, yellow caution tape, police searching for a gun in the piles of snow, a man being lifted into an ambulance on a gurney, a yellow tarp covering a dead body on the sidewalk.

My roommate says she’s not that surprised. Surprised that it happened outside of where we live. We live in a relatively “safe” neighborhood in West Harlem. But she still wasn’t that surprised. That’s New York for you.

The Laundromat owner says he’s surprised. That this type of thing never happens here.

My other roommate wants to move. She no longer feels safe. If her parents find out, she’ll for sure have to move out. That’s the last thing we want.

My 3rd roommate says that what was happening was awesome. She has a little bit of trouble grasping reality and the feelings of others. Maybe its a lack of empathy thing. One roommate refers to her as a sociopath. I wouldn’t necessarily go that far.

My 4th roommate didn’t hear a thing. Neither the commotion outside or the commotion the rest of us were making inside, huddled by the window, watching the scene unfold.

I had heard about plenty of shootings that have happened in New York, or in any place for that matter. But you never really think that it will happen to you. That you would be a witness to something so horrific. But it did happen to me. The question is, where do we go from here?

Full NY Times Article below: