being a creative person can lead to some seriously weird creativity blocks. in the past i've called it the difference between inspiration and creation, as well as some other vague descriptions that don't make much sense to anyone but myself. i am in awe of other people's creations, which should inspire me to make something myself, right? it generally whips me into a form of intimidation that stops all creation in its tracks.
the perfect remedy? be in awe of someone who does something i have no idea how to do. stop inviting comparison to my own work and learn to appreciate the things that do inspire me. sure, i didn't eradicate smallpox by way of an internet search engine or invent an as seen on tv product that will lure millions into a midnight shopping frenzy, but i can stick stuff to other stuff with some amount of skill. i bet the guys at google don't even have a cool adhesive collection like mine. then again, it occurs to me just how many times that me and megan have remarked on how interesting someone else's life is, especially when we see ourselves as boring slugs that blushingly like to watch top model while eating pizza and cupcakes.
my own life, for instance, has raised a few eyebrows and some interest from others. to this i say, "huh? really?" in my head i'm just now starting to become an artist, which may come as a surprise to people; or perhaps not too surprising to the other artists i know. don't we all feel just a little inept at leading our own lives when other people are so damn exciting? it's a big day for me if i remember to take my medication and put my stinky socks in the hamper after i fling my shoes across the living room. and just think - i manage to be interesting and creative.
this is why i cram my life full of other interesting people... which is, of course, anyone who isn't myself and has a wonderful story to tell about that time they did this or that and it ended up as wow that was really cool and don't you think that coincidence is amazing but it was really nothing i swear, but oh it was something to me because i was in awe of the story of the thing i never did myself. but i still don't know if i want to milk a cow or eat live bugs just to have a story like that. i mean, what if i gag on a squirmy cricket and a moving body part flies out of my nose? great story, but not so much worth the trauma of it all when you think it over. okay, so maybe milking a cow would be fine, so long as it didn't hurt my back too much in the end, but the bug thing prolly wins it every time.
but i digress, per my usual habit of digressing. hmmm, it would seem that my block is broken by the thought of live cricket parts shooting out of my face. how's that for boring and interesting combined?
addicted to :
wearing lots of bracelets
groupon
lighting matches
peanut butter
my cats purring loudly
fluffy socks
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