Reluctant Writer

I sent an e-mail to a friend a few hours ago mentioning my drive to write, but also rationalizing my lack of progress in writing. But then it occurred to me that I spend enough time rationalizing or complaining about how I don't write where I could have actually nurtured ideas into something tangible before me.

I can identify several of my weaknesses when it comes to actually being productive. I'm very perfectionist at times. Sometimes I get intimidated by the black space on the page or screen. When I have a long day at work, I'm tired. I get these nights where I just am too fuzzy-headed to string a comment together. Or I have a headache and can't move my head five degrees without excruciating pain. I also don't like others snooping into my work in progress, and since I moved back home I find I don't get enough of the privacy I feel I need to get anything done. There are things I write that would raise alarms should my panicky and overimaginative mother come across them, and I feel like I have to self-censor any negative emotions should she happen upon it. That's not counting anything involving my homosexual inclinations.

I know I have to get back into the practice of writing more. Maybe this would be the best place to keep posting. I have to get back into a rhythm, to just get the muscle memory back again. I chose this site to be my anonymous blog where I could be free of the baggage of identity, but I'm wondering how well that suits me anymore. I'm getting to the point where I am making conscious efforts to link my queerness to my identity. I'm still not ready to be all the way there yet and I don't think I'm quite ready for my parents to find out, but I'm getting sick of hiding and lying to people. As I said, on Twitter I'm a little more brazen with the references to my orientation. I'm finding a freedom in that.

I know if I want to fully establish my own life again, it will have to be as an openly gay man and not my approximation of what I think everyone wants from me. I don't like the person that ends up existing when I try to be that composite of expectations.