Trying to Write Real

So today I’m trying to write. Write for real, that is, which means my words have to have some sort of productivity. A goal at the end of each period. A purpose. A purpose that entails all sorts of spiritual growth, personal discovery, development of compassion, and yeah, it would be great if there were dollar signs somewhere amid all the wonderful self-awareness.

I tried blogging before but it became time-consuming. Mostly because it wasn’t me who was blogging, but Pink Monkey who was writing all the words.

www.pinksockmonkey.wordpress.com

It was hard to be me and her, and not her, and not me, yet still remain coherent amid all the blathering. Pink Monkey is still around, but she’s letting me be me for a while. So at least I can figure out who me is before I become someone else. Or something else, like a monkey. Who’s pink. And made of socks.

Anyways. This is the real me. At least the me not trying to pretend, at least consciously.

What I’m trying to write isn’t actually this blog, but other things that I’ve been wanting to do. A novel, an autobiographical graphic novel, a young adult book based on an idea that was originally for a screenplay. It all sounds very complicated but it isn’t because none of it has been done yet. None of it exists so it’s all actually rather simple.

I need to get the demons out of my head and I’m learning that there’s only so many of them I can purge at my therapist before I run out of money, and only so much I can purge at my husband before we’re sleeping in two separate rooms at night.

I could purge my demons out at our new dog, but as smart as she is, I don’t think she understands. I don’t really want to speak for her, because since we’re still trying to get her to not pee in the condo, I figure she’s not one to focus on the things that I care about. It’s okay though, I still love her like crazy.

Journaling should be easy, but I’ve discovered that as the time gap widens between now and the last time I was in school, handwriting on paper for more than a page is quite exhausting and straining on my hand. Sad but true. This is also a painful reminder of the deterioration of my piano-playing skills.

Anyways. So I’ve decided I’m going to try typing out my thoughts, purging the demons onto my computer and sending them out to the vast world that is the web. I mean the Web, capital W. I could keep them on my computer, because naturally you would think that journaling is private and publishing it online leaves it bare and exposed to all of the humanity who has access to Wifi. But when you think about it, leaving it on my computer is actually more personal, more of a presence of my troubles. My demons will be living and thriving on my sleek MacPro so how will I ever be able to escape them every time I look at the freaking computer screen!

Purging it into the Web makes sense. I’ll free my demons so they get lost in all the online chatter. Gone, whoosh, out into all the 1s and 0s and HTML brackets. And besides, who’s going to read this anyways?