The sorry state of non-writing

The last few weeks of my life have been a testament to the adage that it never rains but it pours. At several points, I contemplated backing up my website and deleting it until I was certain that I had the time and energy to write. Just thinking about my neglected journal made me feel guilty.

Thinking about my novel made me feel even worse. I haven’t worked on it properly for about a month. The ridiculous thing is that I’m not even being prevented from writing by something serious. It’s the tiny things that keep me occupied to no end: minor illnesses, my job, obligations to friends, chores, and studies. They’ve always been there, but recently, they decided to gang up on me and leave me feeling miserable.

In particular, I’ve grown to detest my job. How can something so mundane torture me so much? My job makes me so unhappy that I can’t even think of writing when I come home. After work, all I want to do is to binge-listen to my favourite music and sing along until I feel alive again. I’ve discovered that ignoring accumulated stress doesn’t dissolve it. But singing really helps; a 60-minute session at a noraebang can cure me of almost anything.

The funny thing is that my life’s been hectic before, and I’ve never felt as deprived of happiness as I do now. The only thing that’s changed between back then and now is that now, I know what I want to do. But that makes all the difference. Before I decided that I wanted to write novels and compose music, I might have taken all of my current problems in stride. But now that I know what my passions are, anything else evokes at best boredom, and at worst frustration.

These days, it seems as though all of my time and effort goes into maintaining the state of living, rather than actually living my life. I have terrifying moments when I imagine reflecting on my past as an old woman and thinking that while I didn’t get to do what I really wanted to do, at least I made it to an advanced age.

I still don’t want to write today. All the words I can think of are angry and soulless. I understand now why so many writers want to become full-time writers. It’s the only way to guarantee a life full of writing. Even if you get frustrated, at least it’ll be over something that you chose and enjoy. I’d love to become a full-time writer, but for now, all I want to do is to listen to rock music.