Obsessive-compulsive.
"PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): Fertility clinics in the U.S. are filled to the brim with frozen human embryos. Forty thousand would-be fetuses are now on ice, waiting for a go-ahead from the couples that spawned them. This backlog of potential life in limbo reminds me of you, Pisces. If you could get access to the parts of your imagination that are immobilized by fear, you'd become a powerhouse of focused creativity. I'm happy to tell you that this is a perfect time to do just that."
Okay, I know that copy+pasting Rob Breszny's horoscopes every week isn't exactly writing, but this one just seems to capture the strange conundrum in which I've found myself. Post-school, post-marriage, post-job, away from the television and oh-so-low on the alcohol chain, the murky depths of creative energy are welling up, and taking over every corner of my brain and my dining room. I can't stop the flow of ideas, the list-making, and the planning and cutting and building of Things.
Was I truly immobilized by fear, or just external constraints? Or simple distractions? I suspect it's a combination of the three, and the aggressive nudging of the new space that's opened up where I used to be comfortable in my over-commitment. Comfort is a fuzzy, warm blanket that makes me complacent and lazy. It dulls my edges and saps my energy as I sink slowly into it's embrace. Maybe this is why I can't stay in a job, a relationship, a haircolor... This begs the question: is it a foregone conclusion that I must always choose between the two, comfort or creativity? Which begs yet another disturbing question: what happens if creativity itself becomes too comfortable?
I think I'm addicted to instability.
"PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): Fertility clinics in the U.S. are filled to the brim with frozen human embryos. Forty thousand would-be fetuses are now on ice, waiting for a go-ahead from the couples that spawned them. This backlog of potential life in limbo reminds me of you, Pisces. If you could get access to the parts of your imagination that are immobilized by fear, you'd become a powerhouse of focused creativity. I'm happy to tell you that this is a perfect time to do just that."
Okay, I know that copy+pasting Rob Breszny's horoscopes every week isn't exactly writing, but this one just seems to capture the strange conundrum in which I've found myself. Post-school, post-marriage, post-job, away from the television and oh-so-low on the alcohol chain, the murky depths of creative energy are welling up, and taking over every corner of my brain and my dining room. I can't stop the flow of ideas, the list-making, and the planning and cutting and building of Things.
Was I truly immobilized by fear, or just external constraints? Or simple distractions? I suspect it's a combination of the three, and the aggressive nudging of the new space that's opened up where I used to be comfortable in my over-commitment. Comfort is a fuzzy, warm blanket that makes me complacent and lazy. It dulls my edges and saps my energy as I sink slowly into it's embrace. Maybe this is why I can't stay in a job, a relationship, a haircolor... This begs the question: is it a foregone conclusion that I must always choose between the two, comfort or creativity? Which begs yet another disturbing question: what happens if creativity itself becomes too comfortable?
I think I'm addicted to instability.
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