Written Rambles

There will be updates about nursing. I have what I want to write scattered across various placement notebooks, I’m just yet to translate. Procrastination is a contrary creature, the moment I tell myself I have to do something, I find every reason under the sun to not do that thing. Perhaps instead of weekly nursing blog entries, I will try to write something weekly and not worry so much about what it is.

November has come and gone. I have survived the encroaching darkness. I do find it harder to wake myself up in winter. I find it harder to motivate myself. The glass around the snow globe thickens and my daydreams draw closer to the surface. When I was little, when thoughts had to be spoken aloud to be verbal, I used to talk myself to sleep. I would tell myself stories. My stories were never linear plots. They were scenes stitched together. Until I found a particular moment I liked and looped it. Over and over, trying to recapture the moment of joy it gave me the first time around and always finding it lacking.

When I daydream now, the words don’t have to be spoken aloud, but the stories follow the same pattern. I remember at fifteen trying to coax my mind into dreaming epic fantasies. The kind of magical worlds that filled my notebooks of plot ideas. My mind has never complied. Instead it fixates on characters. On the mundane. On the day to day. On emotions. I feel like my daydreams are constricted in a way my writing isn’t, but my spoken self is. When I write, my world expands, it’s as if putting letters to a page frees up space in my head to see further. The world in my daydream is tiny. It has to be to keep me from getting completely lost in it. It has to be small, because it is the safe space to learn to handle emotions I don’t know how to feel in the real world. The daydreams are the glass around the snow globe.

I think I found the biggest barrier to finding Luna, the biggest barrier to escaping the snow globe, when I wrote about not being purple. I define myself by what I am not. I look for the gaps and hide in them. I’m scared to let myself think for fear that I will reach a ceiling in my own understanding. Instead of embracing that fear I hide from it. I tell myself I don’t have to think. I let myself be comfortable. I wallow in not being purple instead of trying to discover what colour I am. Things have changed, and my world has expanded, but not enough. I want to finish my degree, being a qualified nurse is important to me. It is part of what I want to do with my life. But I need to make time to write. I need to write because when I write it makes space for the me in the snow globe to come out. It makes space for Luna.