A Rhythmic Rise and Fall

A Rhythmic Rise and Fall

The glow of the computer sometimes inspires writing, sometimes hinders it. I love to see my words appear on the screen as they will on paper. The sight of growing paragraphs invigorates me, because typed words look professional and organized, at least before I realize how rambling and incoherent their meaning is. At other times, though, the blank page is daunting, and the sharp glare of the screen blinds me even to my thoughts.

I have been sitting here for longer than I care to admit, unable to create a coherent sentence or even a logical thought. Ideas don’t flow into words for some reason, and I wonder what happened to all those philosophies of life I thought I worked out when I was folding my clothes. Then I had the words in my head and just didn’t have time to write them down. Now I can’t even remember what they were. Not only the phrasing, but the ideas themselves have slipped away. If I remembered them, I might not believe in them any more. I feel no inspiration; I feel completely flat.

I feel that flatness and emptiness when I wake up some mornings, and I stumble out of bed with a sense of dread about my schoolwork. It isn’t any more difficult than usual; I just don’t want to begin the day. For no reason at all, I can’t seem to motivate myself. The year ahead spreads out before me like a corn field, flat and monotonous, as far as I can see. The book I wanted to read, the story I wanted to write, and all other plans lose their attraction. Then later in the day, my outlook changes. Hearing a song or reading an essay suddenly makes me more optimistic and hopeful. Life suddenly a purpose, and I am gazing up a mountain with a sense of adventure instead of scanning rows and rows of grain on the horizon. For the rest of the day I find ideas for stories or essays, plan new ways of accomplishing all my schoolwork faster, and feel generally good about everything. Days that begin badly often end up turning around and ending up very happily.

The next morning, I probably awake with the previous night’s optimism still in my blood. I feel so confident that I actually talk myself into thinking that the entire day will be this good. No matter how many times experience proves me wrong, I always have some idea that I could achieve an absolutely perfect day if I try hard and the Fates permit. My naïve idealism is dashed to pieces, though, because something invariably ruins the day. It is never anything catastrophic; I usually spoil my day by letting my mind wander from my math problems or by talking on the phone for five minutes more than my parents allowed. At the end of the day, I have not finished my work, and others are disappointed in me or I am disappointed in myself.

Then there are days when everything seems to be right, and I get everything done, and I feel wonderful. For a while I am overwhelmed by a sense of accomplishment. I am on top of my responsibilities, and for the moment, I can do whatever I want. At last I have time to knit or read or write or do anything I feel like doing without any guilt. So maybe I do knit for a while, or, more likely, I spend my free time contemplating the joy of having time to knit but never get to the activity itself. Whatever I do, though, the time ends too quickly, and before I know it, the day is over, and I have to wake up again the next morning and do it all again. And I don’t want to. I don’t want to let go of that feeling of accomplishment and freedom to start another day with everything hanging over my head again. As soon as I realize that, I am plodding through a cornfield again, and I am tired and bored.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up with my energy and eagerness restored and I’ll be flooded with inspiration for the words I should be writing as I sit at the computer now. Or maybe I’ll still feel flat and listless. I may as well accept the eternal hum of the computer, the hypnotizing glow of the screen, and the tiresome dullness in my head. I may as well resign myself to the rhythmic rise and fall of my feelings. Somewhere in the back of my mind is an enthusiasm for life and a will to accomplish my work, although I can’t find them at the moment. I remind myself they’ll return. They always do.