Sometimes I Wish

I currently have the most terrible case of writer's block. I, myself, will contribute it to a lack of Red Bull in my system, others may say that I'm just being too critical about what I'm writing, and Maryanne will probably say that I just haven't found the right thing to write about yet. I;m pretty sure it's a combination of all three.

I have started typing in this little box about fourteen times in the past few hours, just trying to force something brilliant to come from these fingertips. Nothing. Well, not nothing. Stuff has come out. I've just proceeded to repeatedly delete whatever it was. It wasn't good enough.

I started by just sitting here with the window open, no ideas, hoping an idea would fall like a lead balloon out of the sky into my head. Didn't happen.

I tried free-writing; the whole stream of consciousness thing. It worked for a little bit, but then it just didn't feel right. I was forcing myself to think, and then I was over-thinking it.

I realize that I think about the world alot. Nothing ever specific; just everything all at once. I think about thinking and the fact that I think so much. I often wonder (hope) that other people think about stuff as much as I do because that would make me feel a little less crazy.

I realize that I have a problem asking for help from people. Some call it being stubborn or being proud; I personally think I'm dumb for it. I'm not sure why I do it, but whenever I know I need help the most, I tend to retract myself and pull all the work onto myself. It's like I'm trying to constantly prove myself even when I don't need to.

I realize that the most important things in a friendship are ears and shoulders. Nothing in the whole world is more valuable than a friend who is willing to give you a hug and listen to you talk when you're feeling down. Those are the two things I always know I am always willing to do for my friends.

I realize that my personality is that of a therapist. I don't know how it happened. I don't know when it happened. But somewhere along the life of Steven Nowicki, I made an unconscious decision to be the shoulder and ear for not only those close to me, but to anyone and everyone I met. I think I just have a knack for being able to make people feel like someone's listening to them.

I realize that although I like helping people and that I like being the therapist, I'd like a turn on the couch.

I realize, again, that I think about stuff too much.

And just like that, I wrote a blog.