Day 27 of 30: Last Dream I Had
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Sometimes, you get that feeling in the pit of your stomach that just drives you past all absurdity. I fight this battle - less frequently as time has come on - because this is the antonym of writers block. This is the battle of a larger war, where someone who has to write because it’s who he is finally has to choose between doing what he’s programmed to do or fighting it because he hates it.
I’ll be honest - I hate writing…but I love it (p90x reference anyone?). I’m burned out. It’s been six years of competitive, driving, and burning passion that has nearly been used up. I’ve said this before and every single darn time I came back like Brett Farve around August. It just wouldn’t leave. But this time, I feel the sun setting. It’s just time…I just know…like Phil Jackson after being swept by the Lakers: I’ll hobble off leaning on my crutch to go enjoy other aspects of my life.
The ironic thing is - whenever I leave writing, I get inspired, which leads me to come back hoping to hit that game winning shot one more time. That’s what writing is to me - it’s my sport, second to football, that I can’t get away from.
So what does this have to do with my last dream? Everything. Lately, I’ve been having the same sort of dreams over and over again, and they seem to be criss-crossing between reality and a clandestine world that I can only discover by reading the maps on the back of my eye lids. For a few weeks, I kept having a nightmare I was forced to go play for my high school coaches again. It was so real and depressing - to the point I could smell the locker room and feel that old concrete floor on my feet - that I woke up more angry than when I actually played for them.
Other dreams have dealt with summer, school, dreams, friendships that have faltered, and visions that have yet to be accomplished yet. Yet, perhaps thanks to friendships and reminders of my roots the past that have been developing for the last month, I’ve been reminded off my lone-ranger, ride-off-into-the-sunset alone, go big or go home, death by age 28, Flash and Awe, win-the-game/break-your-heart mindset I’ve carried since junior high.
I’ve been one to dream that I’ll never get married, instead searching for the mysterious girl who never got away, never really trusting anything to get close enough to survive it, and that my life will somehow look like The Great Gastby and Hitch all combined. Hell, maybe I’ll even look like Will Smith in a few years.
Yet…those dreams (or nightmares to some) are probably unrealistic. But that’s the dream I’ve been having. Because I don’t lose games in life, especially games I vowed never to lose again. I was 17 when I was absolutely crushed by life’s scenarios…and I knew it would never happen again. (Think John Mayer’ Assassin plus Hitch - yeah another Hitch reference, I know).
But life changes…and you meet new people, and then you realize that not everyone deserves to be hurt in the end. That’s a new aberration.
And this is why I don’t write anymore…because nostalgic euphemisms don’t belong anywhere near the emotionless.