free time

We've been so ingrained to work for things, work so hard that we long for free time and freedom, that when there's no immediate goal to work for we feel a little lost. Writing is difficult because the hours don't add up to results; what is put in doesn't correlate to what is put on paper. I don't think I've had anything else in my life that's so painful and so fulfilling at the same time, except for maybe relationships, and it's funny to think of something so solitary to be most like something so connected to people.

I find it difficult to focus, turning to multiple writings to override the block in one (hence the blogging, the emailing). When trying to write things with clearer details and points to the details, it can be relieving to ramble with whatever comes to mind. I go back and forth between the endeavor of writing and the typing of thought, in almost a frenzy.

And I place things in the background; there is always always music and often there's a book. Currently I'm reading about qualitative research--how to analyze narratives, interpret stories. Which is interesting and informative, but also occupies a lot of the same space allotted for writing, and crowds things a bit.

I doubt that there will another time in my life quite like this one, where I can give so much attention to the space and crowding in my mind. It's ungrateful and honest to complain about the difficulty of free time and uncertain pursuits, and it's also necessary to fully portray how lucky I feel to be both so wound-up and unwinding.