![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I am an enneagram 4.
That probably means nothing to anyone. Okay, maybe it means something to a few. Whatever the case may be, I saw a post on Instagram and it got me thinking.
The image was for Enneagram 4's and it said," You can't pour from an empty cup." Under that was a cup with different layers. The list was as follows:
- Being unapologetically true to yourself
- Having alone time (with music)
- Having deep conversations
- Spending time in nature
- Ambiance
The suggestion being that these are things that fill an 4's cup. And I believe it is true. So I spent some time yesterday doing some automatic drawing. And then I thought about how I used to write, and that was also automatic. And how I used to just do things "automatically", not really thinking too much about what I was doing. Then I thought about how I feel shame and guilt for almost everything I do when I live that way. And how feeling that remorse is not being unapologetically true to myself.
So I got comfortable on the couch with a beer, my ipad, some music, candles, and turned the fucking lights off. And I drew. And I didn't think about what I was drawing. I just let whatever was going to happen happen.
So I am going to experiment with this idea. I am going to try and create art that is fully driven by the moment. Being present and doing it as it comes. This includes writing.
So what does that mean for this journal entry. Well, it might end soon, or it might be long as fuck. I remember back in the long long ago, my journal entries used to be tomes of my emotions, and I wrote each sentence as they came to me. I didn't think about the next thing I was going to say or why I was going to say it. For those reading these entries, I probably seemed like a rambling madwoman. Or maybe even a bit pretentious. To be honest, I probably am and was being pretentious. I can't help the way sentences form in my head though. I'm not purposely composing them in such ways. That is just what naturally comes out. I blame reading. My sentence formation becomes particularly insufferable the more recent I have read a book.
I need to pee, but I am not interested in leaving my desk. Fuck it, I guess I will go do that now. Alright, I am back.
You know what's interesting about this particular type of journaling? It is 100% about being present. And I used to do it all the fucking time! I came by the practice naturally. Almost like it was a survival skill that I had to learn through all of the trauma and neglect.
I had a dream that someone got my guitar re-stringed for me. I don't remember who or why. I just remember being grateful because it was removing an obstacle for me. I would go and get that done, but I am in the middle of learning piano and voice. I have to be honest, there is so much that I want to do and accomplish, but there is only so much time in a day... So I have to pick and choose. As much as I want to get back to learning guitar, I think I need to stick the piano until I can move on. Eventually though.
I am hungry, but I don't want to heat up my breakfast burrito. I just want to sit here with my coffee, my music, and write. I think I used to do this until I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. Any time I started to feel the stress or anxiety mount, I would go back to writing about nothing.
I want to take the rest of the day/week off of work. I feel like there is some self-restorative bullshit I need to do in order to get back into a clear and calm mental state (if I was ever in one to begin with). It really fucking sucks that I kind of know what it is I need, but then when I get the opportunity to do it, I waste it. I don't do what it is I know I want/need. And it is always anxiety that drives that immobility. Because that is what it is. It is a stupid paralysis that prevents me from taking the actions I know I should take for my own sanity.
I wonder if I should look through my old poetry and try to self-publish a book? I mean, I have my doubts that anyone would want to read it. But maybe it is good? I don't even know.
I feel like if I did something like that, I would have to include illustrations... and none of what I do matches the tone of what I have written. Mostly because I don't think I know what I am doing art-wise. I honestly don't know if I should continue writing or if I should call it here. I am not really saying anything. Just trying to be with my thoughts as they come. Did I ever go back and read what I wrote? I don't remember.
I hate that I feel like there has to be some portal to connection in one of my browser tabs, but I can't seem to find it. Like I know it exists somewhere on the internet, but it definitely isn't on Facebook or instagram. And it certainly didn't follow me here. It's a shame really. I wish more of my friends had actually come along. It doesn't help that it makes me feel like I am truly alone. There has to be others though, right? I'm not fucking special. There must be others.
Something has to give.
That probably means nothing to anyone. Okay, maybe it means something to a few. Whatever the case may be, I saw a post on Instagram and it got me thinking.
The image was for Enneagram 4's and it said," You can't pour from an empty cup." Under that was a cup with different layers. The list was as follows:
- Being unapologetically true to yourself
- Having alone time (with music)
- Having deep conversations
- Spending time in nature
- Ambiance
The suggestion being that these are things that fill an 4's cup. And I believe it is true. So I spent some time yesterday doing some automatic drawing. And then I thought about how I used to write, and that was also automatic. And how I used to just do things "automatically", not really thinking too much about what I was doing. Then I thought about how I feel shame and guilt for almost everything I do when I live that way. And how feeling that remorse is not being unapologetically true to myself.
So I got comfortable on the couch with a beer, my ipad, some music, candles, and turned the fucking lights off. And I drew. And I didn't think about what I was drawing. I just let whatever was going to happen happen.
So I am going to experiment with this idea. I am going to try and create art that is fully driven by the moment. Being present and doing it as it comes. This includes writing.
So what does that mean for this journal entry. Well, it might end soon, or it might be long as fuck. I remember back in the long long ago, my journal entries used to be tomes of my emotions, and I wrote each sentence as they came to me. I didn't think about the next thing I was going to say or why I was going to say it. For those reading these entries, I probably seemed like a rambling madwoman. Or maybe even a bit pretentious. To be honest, I probably am and was being pretentious. I can't help the way sentences form in my head though. I'm not purposely composing them in such ways. That is just what naturally comes out. I blame reading. My sentence formation becomes particularly insufferable the more recent I have read a book.
I need to pee, but I am not interested in leaving my desk. Fuck it, I guess I will go do that now. Alright, I am back.
You know what's interesting about this particular type of journaling? It is 100% about being present. And I used to do it all the fucking time! I came by the practice naturally. Almost like it was a survival skill that I had to learn through all of the trauma and neglect.
I had a dream that someone got my guitar re-stringed for me. I don't remember who or why. I just remember being grateful because it was removing an obstacle for me. I would go and get that done, but I am in the middle of learning piano and voice. I have to be honest, there is so much that I want to do and accomplish, but there is only so much time in a day... So I have to pick and choose. As much as I want to get back to learning guitar, I think I need to stick the piano until I can move on. Eventually though.
I am hungry, but I don't want to heat up my breakfast burrito. I just want to sit here with my coffee, my music, and write. I think I used to do this until I felt like I couldn't do it anymore. Any time I started to feel the stress or anxiety mount, I would go back to writing about nothing.
I want to take the rest of the day/week off of work. I feel like there is some self-restorative bullshit I need to do in order to get back into a clear and calm mental state (if I was ever in one to begin with). It really fucking sucks that I kind of know what it is I need, but then when I get the opportunity to do it, I waste it. I don't do what it is I know I want/need. And it is always anxiety that drives that immobility. Because that is what it is. It is a stupid paralysis that prevents me from taking the actions I know I should take for my own sanity.
I wonder if I should look through my old poetry and try to self-publish a book? I mean, I have my doubts that anyone would want to read it. But maybe it is good? I don't even know.
I feel like if I did something like that, I would have to include illustrations... and none of what I do matches the tone of what I have written. Mostly because I don't think I know what I am doing art-wise. I honestly don't know if I should continue writing or if I should call it here. I am not really saying anything. Just trying to be with my thoughts as they come. Did I ever go back and read what I wrote? I don't remember.
I hate that I feel like there has to be some portal to connection in one of my browser tabs, but I can't seem to find it. Like I know it exists somewhere on the internet, but it definitely isn't on Facebook or instagram. And it certainly didn't follow me here. It's a shame really. I wish more of my friends had actually come along. It doesn't help that it makes me feel like I am truly alone. There has to be others though, right? I'm not fucking special. There must be others.
Something has to give.
