The only thing that ever blocks my writing is my working for an international corporation. There is no other kind of writer’s block that I know of.
The desire to write never really goes away, but I can push it aside when I am absolutely exhausted. I don’t want to push it aside, though. I want to sit down and write.
I have several things that I’ve been thinking about writing; it’s not as if I am lacking material or ideas.
But this week has been so full of work that it became downright impossible to even think about writing and intelligible writing at that. Anything that I felt would turn out at least okay and not be utterly forced out of my hands, poured over the keyboard and spread around on this bloody blank page.
Every time I wanted to make an attempt my brain seemed frozen. Not a single thought wanted to form itself and be spoken aloud. Or written out.
I find this endlessly frustrating, especially considering how I am currently spending my energy and time.
I am in Greece once more, the third time in as many months and it completely inhibits my ability to write. It’s work, work, work. I work eight hours in the office and hardly get to run out to have lunch, today entirely postponing it until it turned almost into an early dinner. Too busy to eat. Never mind to think.
Back at the hotel I work at least another hour or two. Today the internet at the hotel was broken, the IT team tried to get at least my laptop connected, because I still had so much to do and the day turned so late that I couldn’t find it in me anymore to do much work once I was connected, however intermittently.
A part of me thinks: just suck the life right out of me, why don’t you.
Yet, I can’t quit.
I will, in good time. Once I won’t let anybody down any longer and I am not going to be needed anymore. I seriously wonder what would happen if I handed in my resignation. I have no intention to do that, but I do wonder what the reactions would be.
I have another full day in the office before we fly back to London. I am already utterly exhausted. My mind and my will to continue have been completely drained.
So write I must to heal that wounded soul. It’s the only treatment I have. The cure must wait. I will feel better going to sleep on my boat tomorrow night.
The worst part is that I don’t hate my job. It can be frustrating and stressful, but I don’t hate it. I genuinely like my co-workers and my team. If I would hate my job I could just walk away.
It’s a catch 22. Stuck between a rock and a hard place and all that.
Very well. I need to pack my tiny little suitcase now. I managed to go out once this week and hang around Plaka in the center of Athens, which is a nice area albeit touristy.
I’ve never spend so much time in a city and seen so little of it.
That pains my traveller’s soul.
At least my writer’s soul gets a moment’s peace today.