I find myself daydreaming more often than not these days. I thought I had broken the habit of ruminating over things that haven’t happened and may never happen because I spent much of my life wishing for more and different, and it was a waste of time.
But I can’t help it.
When stressed and sickly, I have a hard time making sense of anything because my mind is trying to process so much negativity from the voices and noise in my head. I often retreat into a fantasy world until it’s safe to come out again.
The new mind candy I’m focused on is winning money. …
It never fails.
Every. Damn. Time.
I’ve lived in the Philippines for over nine years, and there are still a few things I miss about the U.S. of A. Fast food is at the top of the list, because while there are a few choices for greasy and quick here on the island, some restaurants are noticeably missing.
I want a $5 pepperoni pizza from Little Caesars and a Mexican Pizza from Taco Bell. I want a Wendy’s Triple and a Frosty. Sometimes I want a roast beef sandwich from Arby’s or a chicken sandwich from Popeyes.
I crave these things because I’m obsessed with food — and not just fast food. But on the days when I miss what I can’t have, one thing will usually make me feel better, and only one…
If I could break my whole sad life down to one word that would allow me to show you the folly of not being grateful for what you have in life, that word would be longing.
No matter where I was currently in my life, one thing was always the same. No matter what I did or did not have, or how much better off I was than my neighbor, I not only wanted more, but I also wanted different.
20 years old. Child on the way. Married for three years. With not even a high school diploma, I worked my way into a shift manager position in a major hamburger chain. I was getting the bills paid, sometimes with a little help from my dad. I had a car. I made more money and lived better than the majority of the people I knew. Was I happy? Nope. I spent every waking hour thinking about what it would be like to be with a different woman, win the lottery, drive a fancy car, travel, on and on ad nauseam. …
Trigger Warning — if you are dealing with your own heavy shit right now, you may want to read something a little happier than this jumble of angst and fear.
Twelve days into NaNoWriMo and my life is unraveling. It started OK, just as it always does, but it’s almost like my demons know I’m trying to accomplish something and increase the frequency and brutality of their attacks on my mind.
Nightmares riddle my sleep — childhood memories and snapshots of events in my life that are molested and rubbed with filth.
During the day, my anxiety level is off the charts, and I cannot seem to get past this depression and the feeling that I may never be good enough to do anything with my life and writing. …
I would blame my failure to stay focused this past week on the election, but the deeper I overthink the mystery, the more I see it’s the nature of who I have been in life that threw me for a loop.
I tend to jump from one thing to another, which has been a significant problem for me.
Take the last week, for instance.
Do you notice that I often write about my mental health? It is only because my illness’s severity keeps it top of mind. Here I am writing a book during NaNoWriMo about blogging by finishing an essay or article per day. …
Twenty-four hours ago, I sat in this very spot at my little desk and wrote an essay called Tell Your Mood to F*ck Off, Push Your Mind Harder, and Create. I wrote it because I have been doing NaNoWriMo and having a battle with a mind that doesn’t want to cooperate.
My mind would rather procrastinate and watch boring election coverage. …
I know a few of you will disagree with me. “But Jason. You can’t force the creative process!” or, “If you have to force it, you shouldn’t be blogging in the first place!” I can see the comments when I publish this sucker.
A lot of people write for the pure joy and ecstasy of it. They write to free their mind and stretch their artistic muscles. While I aspire to be that way, I can’t truthfully say it is how writing and blogging are for me.
I blog for three reasons:
For more than two years, I have been trying to figure out why nobody reads my writing. Well, at least not enough people are reading for me to pay the bills. I knew it was because I generally sucked and wasn’t up to par with the successful writers, but I needed to be more specific if I wanted to fix the problem.
So I stopped feeling sorry for myself, put my big boy pants on, and started analyzing everything.
The following is what I found out.
Since I have over 360 articles and essays published on Medium and have statistics to figure out which stories people read and which ones die on the vine, I used the information from them to begin my analysis. …
CNN is playing in the background, and as much as I want to focus on the news coming in, I have bigger fish to fry.
I gave myself two months to finally gain some traction with my blogging efforts, and at three days in, I’m feeling great. I set my goals, and I’m checking stuff off the list.
Again this week, the winner was Molly Cantrell-Kraig. Congrats!
The challenge was to use the image below and make a story using only 100 words:
This was Molly’s solution to the challenge:
Bhagya made the trek to the deepest part of the forest alone, seeking the portal to the next dimension. At thirteen, she had prepared for this threshold into womanhood. With stories of her mother and sister echoing in her head, she was equal parts nervous and excited. Jolted from her thoughts, she stifled a squeak when she saw the clown holding the red balloon.
This was the Gatekeeper? Upon second thought, it made sense to Bhagya. Clowns conjured feelings of delight, tinged with trepidation. With eyes downcast, hand trembling slightly, she took a deep breath and reached for the balloon. …