Sounds oh so melodramatic doesn’t it? I want to write – something. I haven’t decided what. I was trying to sketch out some plot ideas this morning and no matter what kind of events I try to wedge in the over all plot petered out pretty quickly. I want to develop progression. That will be of course be easier once I’ve decided what I want the story to be about. Gah. Such a brain fug. Strong urge to retreat to coffee shop. In fact I think someone in the office did earlier, out of frustration at having no work on.
What I should have been writing about today, of course, are my secrets which are untraceable, rather than my public experiences which will glow of me-ness to anyone I am non-sexually intimate with.
On friday I was in a fug. I’m not sure where the word comes from but I feel it means a misery fog – it is thick and gloomy and makes you feel a bit isolated. I bought a small notebook (I now wish I’d gone for a bigger one) took myself to a coffee shop and sketched out the basic plotlines for the four major characters in my new script story. The women are clearer in my head but that seems normal, the men will come out in time. The fug became less sticky – or I started vibrating from the caffeine. My evening improved from there.
The point is that I haven’t pulled my disappearing act for a long time. It’s not something I ever did that often (unless you include the times I pretended not to be in my room/asleep). I didn’t think it was something I needed to do anymore, having left behind all the destructive people I did know and now being in contact with comparitively small (if persistant) stresses.
I think I did it for other reasons. A primary factor is the lack of personal space I claim as mine. My room is used for storage of my things and as a guest bedroom. That means guests own the space over me. The room is cold and isolated. It is cluttered. If I did go up there my partner would probably seek me out for having withdrawn.
Another problem I have is that things are always on. I’m all for watching a bit of telly, but when you’re constantly surrounded by tvs, pcs, consoles, sky+, even the fridge hums and the extractor in the kitchen. It’s too much. It’s never still. It puts me on edge, which is why I think I like the opportunity to scribble in a notebook.
The best part about going to a coffee shop is the feeling of having noone’s hands on you. No one knows where I am (there must be over a dozen coffee shops within a mile square) and it is incredibly unlikely that anyone will find me by accident, especially given my choice of seats. It’s like being in a bubble. I don’t have to play up to anyone, or feel any tension, or provide any support. And if I have a notebook I can write too.