Novelty and creative expression.

I start projects all the time. I do two weeks of Weight Watchers before I need cookies more than I need my health. I get ideas for books, for art projects, for world domination and they all lay dormant, frantic scrawls of the initial planning phases stuck to post-it's all over my desk.

I like shiny objects. I crave the new. The excitement. I am a person addicted to novelty.

It's why my brain shies away when I try to get serious about the "who I'm gonna be when I grow up and finally get my shit together" question. It's why I get depressed four months into moving somewhere spectacular-- the thought of never moving again and experiencing the excitement of a new destination making my heart ache inexplicably. It's why I want to move every year, change apartments and cities, change my hair style, my clothes, my persona.

Irrational, I know.

I have children and adult stuff, and that requires routine. Dishes and laundry and blah, blah, blah... I get so bored with all of it, I want to scoop my own eyes out with the spoon I use to stir my monotone coffee. I ramp my dosages of antidepressants, only to eventually feel numb to them and overpowered by the notion that each day that passes, the spark slips a little further away.

That's why writing is so important to me. I get to feel the excitement of new destinations. New characters. New interactions, plots, dialogue, relationships.  I write here mostly because I hope it allows me to understand the other things that are so necessary to my survival. I'm not creative because I'm just some moody, entitled product of my misguided generation; I allow my creativity to express the parts of my soul that would otherwise lie dormant and eat me from the inside out.

Creativity saves me. It's necessary and I'm going to start treating it with the respect it deserves. I'm way behind in NaNoWriMo and I've told myself that it's not worth my time. Practical, mean Amy says no fun. I started a story and I spent a few days engulfed in the thicket of plot lines before I decided it was irresponsible and I could use that time for better, more adultier, things. It stopped being shiny and I walked away. I abandoned my characters, closed the laptop and resigned myself to their sudden death.

That ends now. Tonight, I open that laptop and revive them. I will finally, force myself to have some God damn follow through and it's going to be amazing. Ot it's going to be utter shit, but at least I will have convinced myself that I'm capable of passing through the novelty and really engaging with my feelings, my environment, my art. I owe my creative process no less than it gives me-- A chance at life.