I am planning a baby shower. Don’t worry. I’m not gonna turn all mommy blog on you.

(Side note: I always treat the first sentence of a blog like an explosive confession you tell a friend after the first swig of beer at the bar.  Know thats what I’m imagining when I write it. You (reader) are my friend and we are at the bar catching up.)

Anyway I’m planning a baby shower. And it’s friggin exhausting! It shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t even be throwing it. I know this. Etiquette says your dearest friends should be throwing it and it should look like this: ideal

But I hate that. It’s so bland and boring and vanilla..but I also don’t want to end up with a case of coke, a bag of Doritos, and a cake like this:


Not that my friends are like that…probably. BUT I CAN’T RISK IT.  They can help but I must do this myself! Only I know exactly what I want. I will accept nothing more than what I imagine perfection to look like to me. Please note,  It’s not even a matter of me having crazy exorbitant taste, it’s just a pure control thing. It has to be…right.

Which explains why I will do everything else before I sit down and write an entry. I have to get it perfect* the first time and that fear of not getting right stops me from writing. In fact, the aboved asterisk indicates where I avoided and went googling for about an hour before I finished the sentence. Why do we do this? Why do I do this. When I sit down to write something, I “make sure I did everything else I have to do for the day” so I don’t get distracted but that list is endless and I always find something else.

When I was a kid, I wrote all sorts of things. Mostly poems. Gothic, Marilyn Manson inspired,  black soul poems. Well as black as you can get when you live part time in suburbia. But you couldn’t pay me to do anything else but write those super cliche poems. Nothing distracted me, I always found time. On the bus, between classes. After a busy day of school and rehearsal I’d unwind with a pen and a torn out page from a spiral notebook. Now after a long day, I go home and…couch. I “can’t write” with a pen and paper. It must be on a computer and I’m certainly not whipping my laptop out on the C train on the way to work. Steal-city.

So what am I to do? How do we solve this? When did it happen? The flip from using creativity to relax and inspire to looking at it as a chore? And what can I do about it? Yeah I know that there are a million techniques to help with this. I’ve googled it. I’ve spent a lot of time googling it in the time I allowed myself  for writing. Because I’m using my false need for a structure to stop me from just spitting out some words. Funny how as a kid you’re feel under the thumb of parental rules and regulations but you are so so free creatively. As an adult you can make a million of your own decisions but mentally, you’re a clogged drainpipe.

There’s a million options out there to help get the creative going again. So many that I’ve read so many times that I know them by heart. I could advise you. But I can’t advise myself. What isn’t flipping back? It’s something in me.  Am I too content? I was so discontent as a child. The stakes for everything were so high. But now, only rent is high.

I know you’re looking for an answer, a tradition, problem, debate, solution story here but this entry isn’t going to end with one. Perhaps this is just a confession of a self realization. And I’m not sure if it could come at a better time as the atmosphere these days seems to be swirling with change. Globally and personally. Almost as intense as it did decades ago when everything mattered. Perhaps the flip is coming and I don’t know it yet. But I do think it’s a good time to have my pen out.