It’s nearly ten o’clock at night, she sits in her bed zapping through blog posts, YouTube videos and Netflix series. So much she could watch, the choice is endless, and yet, she can’t seem to find it enough. It has almost become pure frustration to choose between movies; how annoying it is to start watching one, just to end up being bored by it and restlessly looking for more.
More. Why isn’t there more? How is it possible that there is nothing in this whole internet that can guarantee an enjoyable content that leaves her feeling somehow fulfilled. It’s a déja-vue. Didn’t she go through this process just the night before, in fact even the day before and every weekend before that as well.
How is it possible that she spends every night that she has left with free time sitting in front of her screen watching this or that, secretly annoyed that she couldn’t really find anything worth watching? When will the moment come that she wakes up and realizes that all that time spend alone staring on the flickering screen that slowly turns blurry, is doing just that: Staring. Numb. Soaking in more and more of the meaningless content; watched at night, forgotten the next morning. It is a routine, it feels right to her, isn’t it normal to get a little quality me-time, a little Netflix here, and update there, before going to sleep (usually too late). Isn’t that what everyone does?
Staring. Unsettled. Longing for more without knowing for what.
The truth is it doesn’t actually feel that right. She knows that there would be better things to do. She didn’t always use to be like that. She hates admitting it, but once thought out loud, she can’t deny it no more. She is lazy. No motivation is left for more than getting up to grab a drink and a cookie, which she gulfs down trying to ignore the guilt.
There are better things to do. Things that make her happier. Things that make her proud. And then the truth is so undeniably heavy, so clear and unforgivable.
Her laziness is the greatest sin that she could commit to her creativity.
She has become a dull being fully consumed by the never-ending content available to her. She has totally given in, forgotten to write, draw, create herself. No wonder she is longing for more. The false illusion of partaking in something, whilst she was only watching someone else doing it, could never be enough. How absurd it now seems.
Frustrated and angry at herself, but determined she shuts her laptop forcefully. Restlessly she stands up, lost for a second, then moves toward a drawer. It’s been too long since she last opened it. The notebook she once filled so dearly with her own imagination still lays there, untouched, as if it was waiting for her. Carefully she takes it with both hands and thumbs through the pages. A smirk creeps on her lips when she remembers the silly fantasies of her younger self. The desire to write is suddenly as beautifully strong as adamant that it overwhelms her. Fumbling for the nearest pencil, she turns to a white page. It is a white and empty page. Yet she doesn’t lose a single moment of staring on it. Eagerly she moves her pencil on the soft paper and fills the space affectionately with her scrawly letters. There is so much to say and so much time to make up for. It all makes sense now. How, she wonders, could she ever feel fulfilled without the gentle scratching of her pen on a page…
A little bit something different today, but I hope you guys enjoyed it nonetheless. Let me know what you think of it. Thanks for reading,
I’m out and about,