The cutting floor...

 I entered a writing contest...well, more of a battle.

The rules were we had three days to write a 500 word story, using prompts drawn from a digital deck. I was intrigued by the concept, so decided to enter. My thought was I would churn out three stories, sit with them for a moment, then pick one to edit and submit. After the moment passed I couldn't pick one, so I gave all three a little bit of the editing love, and... I still couldn't pick. So I let the dice decide.

Here is one of the stories that didn't make the cut:

7 days after leaving, we found the mine. The soot-streaked walls, overturned carts spilling black lumps over the rough ground like so many marbles suggesting a coal mine. It seemed like a good place to stay, to hole up, literally, as we waited out the end of the world.

What were we waiting for? I don’t rightly know, but when the sky went red, and the clouds rolled in, everyone panicked, everything changed. We had originally thought we could stay home, lock the doors, watch the crazies roaming the streets. At first it was entertaining, if creepy. Wild eyed they roamed, placid, almost serene. Then as the crowds grew, the wailing started. More and more took to the streets, old women, boys barely old enough to have hair on their chests. Some formed loose packs, and the Disaster didn’t discriminate, people of all races and creeds joined in, took the to streets, and wailed.

We got used to it after a few days, the low keening from outside, haunting, and, when you could convince yourself for a moment that this wasn’t the end of the world, almost beautiful. As the crowds grew, the wailing, discordant as it was, took on a choir-like tone. Comforting, in a way, since we knew if it was out there, it wasn’t in here. Then the wailing stopped. It was the middle of the night, and it was the silence that woke me. Suddenly alert, I slid out of bed, my wife whispering fiercely at me to stay, but I had to see what was going on. I crept slowly to the window and drew back the curtain, looking out and down onto the street, and what I saw made my blood run cold. They were all still there, and they were all staring at the bedroom window, at me. Before I could even open my mouth, the crowd outside shifted, never taking their eyes off me, and started walking their calm, serene walk towards the house.

I told my wife we had to go, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t argue, I don’t know if it was the fear in her veins or the tone of my voice. I didn’t know where we were going to go, but something had changed. We couldn’t stay here. We gathered as much as we could, as fast as we could, and took off from the back door, into the woods that backed onto our house.

That was then, and this is now. We’re running low on food. My family is asleep further in, huddled around the embers of a dying fire. Here I sit at the mouth of this cave, while they sleep. The only defender my family has against...  Movement in my peripheral vision startles me from my reverie. As I peer around the beams that mark the entrance, a little girl steps into view, her pace calm, steady, serene. Her eyes are glassy and staring directly into mine. Oh no, it’s too late. I’m sorry.

 

 

 

My Final Failure

All day I am filled with ideas. All day I rail against the prison of my occupied time. All day I despair over the lack of time to complete my dreams. When the day is done, when the bell tolls and I am free once more, I wallow. I drown in nothing and I ignore my previous complaints. I allow my own dreams to suffer. I am the cause of my own despair. From time to time I piece one or two words together, and I call it art. It satisfies my selfish soul for a time. I relish in it, and then I forget it.

Am I worthy of my dream? I fill my idle prison with tapestries of what could be, if only I had the time. I fill my head with the ideals of a possible future, but I do nothing to reach it. I sit in the driver’s seat. I mash the gas pedal and I listen to the engine scream and chirp as the needle bounces off the red line. I never put the transmission into gear. I listen to the sound of what could be speed, but I never take off.

The question that fills your head, undoubtedly, is why. I know because it fills my head, too. Why thrash against a cage and then, when the door is unlocked, sit in the grass outside the cage and twiddle your thumbs, staring up at the black sky, biding your time until you wander back into the cage. Why? Fear? An easy answer, to be sure. Of what? Failure? We can’t say failure because every minute, every hour I waste makes me the failure that I have become. To avoid the fear of failure would be to try. So what am I avoiding? Trying? Effort? Disappointment? All these and more, to be sure. All these and more.

I can’t tell anyone, I can’t talk to anyone, because I am sick of hearing their infernal solutions. I am sick of hearing the answers I already know. I have not heard useful information in so long that I cannot even stand the thought of hearing it again. But I cannot stand the thought of feeling this weight for the rest of my life.

So what do I do?

Quick Write

Two eyes in a forest, open wide
Look them about a blood drenched sky
Two feet, two hands incarnadine
Two hearts, one dead, one yet alive

'Mimara' she calls
'Mimara' I listen

Who am I, what am I, why do I bleed
where am I, why am I, what do I need
I stand with feet, bare save for the slick
I breathe between lips, dry save for the sick

I follow the voice that roused me from sleep
Each step as silent as the crush of the leaves
This shift, now cold, is still wet; it sticks
These legs, still weak, still move; in shifts

'Mimara' the name holds no meaning for me
'Mimara' what could an echo possibly mean

Two eyes in the forest, open white
Stare them about my blood drenched guise
Faded stone, faded robes, an outstretched hand
An hourglass missing, a trace of red sand

'Mimara' not her, so it must be me
'Mimara' through her eyes, I finally see

Quick Write

O bird
I brought you forth, but can’t find your wings
You speak words or sing songs, I can’t tell which
Can you sing words? Can you speak a song?
Can I break from my bonds and fly?
Not I
Not you
We are creatures resigned to futures we can’t see
We are sculptures, you and I, we can’t breathe
Hearts of stone, or oak, or something hard, dense
From a broken tower I watch the world die
Abandon pretence, swallow flames, become dirt
Weep with abandon and realize that you were part of the world
Part of what I let fall
How could you fly, when I took your wings?
So when the world fell, so did you
So when the world burned, where could you go?
Not up
Not out
What of me now? With nothing left
The loneliest man on the tallest tower
The man of many faults
The man of many hearts
I know I speak words, but they don’t sound like a song
I know I try, but the words seem wrong
The tune seems flat
More chanting, and barely that
To a tower, resigned
O bird
O bird
O bird

Friday 5

Last Song on Earth

1. If the world was ending and you could listen to one song, what would it be?

Each Coming Night, by Iron and Wine

2. How did you first come across that song?

When listening to the Iron and Wine album on which that song resides. I listened to this song over and over the one night, feeling terribly sad and crying the whole time. It was a rough time, I was trying to take myself off anti-depressants that were making me sick, and not having a great time. That night was inexplicably worse, I just listened to that song on repeat laying in my bed in my room at my sister's house, feeling terrible. After several hours I finally managed to sleep, the next morning I found out that that night, my grandfather had died. I wasn't especially close to him, but I have a profound respect for him, and a deep regret that I wasn't closer to him (all my grandparents, really...all my family, really...).

3. If it reminds you of a person, is that person still with you?

See above.

4. Does anyone else know what that song means to you?

I suppose they would now, after reading this post.

5. Where would you listen to it, and with whom?

If I have complete control over the circumstances, It would have to be with my wife and our kitten, in the car, parked on a cliff overlooking the end of the world, be it with a bang, a whimper, or with nothing at all.

Sparkbroker

What spark, in the dark
In disingenuous embers glows the face of a lost lover
Trickle in the feelings, feel the tickle of tears down your cheeks
It reeks of emotion,
And emptiness
Hollow the trunks of dead trees and empty the gust of dead breezes
Make real your imaginary friends
Make an army to fight the real demons
What shark, the dark body of water that last lets loose the dead dream
Eight days underground and the rhythm has you writhing
Light lights, the fire in your eyes
The trumpet tempers the flame in your ears
Too many fears are forgotten
Failed for nothing more than waking up the truth
What dark, if there is a spark?
But what spark?
Who spake?
The voice lost, not found in the failing fire of your final flight
What light?
Whose lantern burns deep in the dungeons and the damp, dying doom?
What room?
No doors to dream the passage breaks conscience, incites passion
Leaks lies
Eats dull razors with crooked teeth
Lights let liars see the lines in your eyes
The darkness harbours friends
The comfort of the unknown
So what light?
Fight!
Bring back the black!
The night will fall
And bring them all
Down
Down
Down
To me.

Armour

Return! Return! The voices chant, and I respond. I have had a rather busy time lately. There's just so much happening, I don't even know where to start! I suppose if I posted more frequently, as things happened, then I wouldn't have this problem. It makes posts more daunting to make, but that much more rewarding.
So we went to Niagara falls, had a good time, came home earlier than expected because my Uncle Dave died, and it was snowing in Niagara Falls, both of which significantly reduce the enjoyment factor. We came home on a Monday to find we'd been locked out of the building! It was such an exciting thing to find out that our landlord is so childish that he has to resort to breaking the law because we won't kowtow to his will. In truth it was not exciting, it was rather infuriating, and made Monday and Tuesday incredibly stressful. I can't wait until we no longer have to rent, and we can own our own house and not have to deal with landlords anymore. For now we have at least another year of renting, though, so we must make the most out of it.
The good that came out of the situation though, was that the stress of this situation finally made Mal realize why we need to move. Because it's not like this is the first thing we've had to deal with, and this place costs too much money to cause this much stress. Also, it made her realize that we don't need a fancy condo to be happy. We applied to lease the house on Carissa, which is nice because it's about 35% cheaper, much bigger, has an attached garage and a yard with a deck, so we can finally use our awesome barbecue. We should hear a yes or no this week from Don, and then we can get in gear and get moved! How truly thrilling!
I feel as though the writing quality of this post is very staggered and unnatural, and I keep getting distracted. I am going to try and get some writing done later today, and I will try and get it posted.

Thanks for listening.

Bruxism

Have you ever caught yourself grinding your teeth? It's usually related to stress. I have been grinding my teeth non-stop all day. Bruxism usually occurs at night, sub-consciously, but mine is pretty constant. I have been trying to stay diligent, and focus on not grinding, but every time my thoughts starts to drift into my worries, I realize I'm doing it again. It is leading to jaw pain, and I have had a dull, constant headache all day. It interrupts my train of thought, I can't focus properly on anything properly, I can't write, especially. I know my composition here is not up to my usual standard, and this is just your standard blog post. Very frustrating, indeed. I am getting a night guard made, but I won't have it for a while, and that only helps at night. What I need to do is to learn how to better handle my stress, and to eliminate some of it. I'm hoping this coming weekend in Niagara Falls helps, and I know it will be easier once the impending relocation is finished. I'm going to give this newfangled thing called meditation a shot, my sister keeps inviting me, and I'm going to take her up on it, soon.

Anyways, off to a night of fitful grinding.

Breakfast v2

I wrote this a couple ays back, the title is above, and has specific meaning. I don't think it's finished, there are a couple of line which I feel are...inelegant, at best. We will see what you think of them.

Edit: I have made some changes, some based on suggestion, some based on my own feelings, please revisit!

A voice like honey drips
From lungs like steel
A fusion of machine and man,
The consummation of the plan.

The grip of God upon my throat,
The chorus of the Word expand!
The truth of love, the spirit here,
The end of death, of greed, of fear.

When the dawn march up the day,
And when the fast is broken, near
The bridge of mourning, sighs and all;
No memories of death, of fall.

Remember then, the words of us
The songs we sang; and all
The melodies of love gone past,
The notes and tones not made to last!

Those in smaller numbers must
Sing out that much more loudly!
The voices of the crowd are lost,
No matter one, no matter cost.

Beware of them that shine so bright
So falsely in the day,
For when a sparkle moonlight brings
The chorus of the angels sings!

The songs of untrained hearts,
The pleas of broken men,
The crying of a dying child,
The ending of the world gone wild.

I wrote something!

Tell me what you think. Tell me how it makes you feel!

Harboured Starboard

And you shall know them by the colour of their eyes.

On the dawn of the new day shall come the three. They will bring with them the great suffering which will be the first step down the path to great prosperity. One cannot achieve greatness without trials, and the three will bring those, true. You will surely know them by the colour of their eyes, for they will be like no other. Not blue, like the sea your boats set upon for fish, nor green like the fields where your shepherds tend their flocks. Their eyes will be the colour of death, of hate and greed and fear. They will reflect the sadness of their task, and strike terrible fear into the hearts of your people, but you must not falter.

When they come they shall be living death. They will not appear long for this world, but the storms they bring will rage for three lifetimes. You will not live to see your people escape the suffering and reach the golden days that lie ahead.

In the first lifetime, yours, you will see the beginning. You will see the entrance of the three, you will see the death that is their gaze, and you must welcome it. You must invite them into your home, and grant them any accord they wish. See to their needs as though they were your own, and see to their wants as if each day were their last. If they call, answer, if they command, obey. Your humility will bring great suffering to your people, suffering beyond any you can currently imagine, but your humility will also begin a journey, a trip down the fiery paths of hell, to emerge in the land of milk and honey. Though you can see the light from here, your people will not. You will be hated, despised, by all. Though you are respected and admired now, this will change. Your past kindnesses will be forgotten, and all will remember the suffering you have brought them. You will be remembered as a villain. In the first lifetime, yours, you will see the death of the three.

In the second lifetime, your son's, you will see the beginning of the end. By the time your son is born, you will hate them. Your son will be born hobbled, and his life shall be a struggle. You must watch his growth with humility, and put the needs of the three above his, above all, as you have done. As your people despise you, so will your son. On your deathbed, he will denounce you as his father, and he will relish in the heartbreak on your face. The three will die before you, and their deaths will be terrible. At this point you will believe that all you have seen will be all that could be horrible in the world. Their deaths will convince you otherwise. You will not live to see the peak of the suffering, but rest assured, your people shall go though torments the like of which none have the capacity to imagine. In the second lifetime, your son's, you will see nothing, compared to what you do not see.

In the third lifetime, your granddaughter's, your people will see hope. She shall be a beacon unto them, and she will have your eyes. Your people will praise her beauty, but will speak of what a pity it is that she has the eyes of a villain. She will, on your son's instruction, take her mother's name, so that history will remember her as different than you, for you are the bringer of death, of desperation, and she is the bringer of hope. Under her rule, your people will begin to prosper. The suffering will begin to cease, and she will be admired like none before her, for she will be their guiding light. History will remember her above all, your hobbled son shall be mostly forgotten, and you shall be purposefully and vigorously cast from the collective memory, in an effort to purge the devastation which you brought. The three, however, will always be remembered. In the third lifetime, your granddaughter's, your people will be freed of your memory.

The birth of your granddaughter's daughter shall signal the beginning of the golden age Where few shall suffer, and those that do will have solace and refuge in the arms of the community. She will be born with the beauty of her mother, but the eyes of her father. The people will view her as the pinnacle of artistry, and she will resemble nothing of you. If your people loved your granddaughter, then there is no word for the affection they will feel to her daughter. All will be well with your people. In her lifetime, there shall be no famine, no war, no pestilence, and no mention of you.

This is your sacrifice. This is what must be done to ensure not just the prosperity of your people, but their very survival. If you choose not to make this sacrifice, your people will not suffer, but they will not prosper. They will languish, they will feel no passion, and by the end of three lifetimes, your people will be but a memory, your citizens dispersed, your lands divided. These are the challenges you face! Will you bring your people to the trough of suffering, or will you let them go? You know the choice you will make, as I do. You will make the sacrifice, you will endure the suffering, and you will be forgotten. You are great, indeed! But you will never, ever, be viewed as a saviour.

And they will never remember the colour of your eyes.

Foggy

I sit in a fog that is entirely my own. Unknown to the world and unknown to me, this fog is the truth and it will not set me free. I am a wanderer, true, and I wander to and fro, but finding no path can only last for so long.
Physical illness and malaise develops into mental illness and malaise, the sicker I feel the sadder I am, and there's no answer except to wait patiently for the seas to swell, then calm, then recede into the darkness.
I am not haunting, I am not mysterious, I am simple and easily defeated. My victories are small, and meaningless in the grand scheme of things. I feel stifled and uncreative, and I know what you are going to say. This is why I don't talk about it, because I always know what you are going to say, and it never helps, because I know you're right. But being right isn't enough. Sometimes you have to be wrong. I don't know what it means, I don't know what I mean, I just know it means something, because it means something to me.
Listen to me whine! I prattle on about my nature, when I can never understand it, no one can understand anything. All is illusion, right? There is no reality, only perception, and perception will be different for each person.Even science, the practice of facts, can never truly be proven. If human knowledge ever expands to the point that we can understand the universe, then we will no longer be able to be classified as humans. There's a paradox I can sink my teeth into. Humans will never understand the universe because when they do, they will cease to be human.
A couple years ago, a girl stole (not actually stole, we swapped books, I sent hers back, she didn't send mine, so yeah, stole) my copy of There are two errors in the the title of this book. I miss it every day. It's a great book. The title itself is a paradox. And besides,who shaves the barber?

Kraka-Boom!

Lo, did the wanderer burst forth, breaking all bonds of nature and civilization.
He came unto a land, and he called it his land, and there, did he establish a desk. More desks were planned, soon, a desk empire would surely stand. But all must start with one, and this was good.
The desk became a foundation for two computers, and lo, they were good computers. Well, one was good. Shh.
Soon after, the INTERNET came. In a torrential downpour did the gigabit link spread forth and connect one mighty machine to the effervescent glow of the information river.
Slightly after this, another link was made, to the lesser peecee, and this was good. This was called wireless, named so after the lack of wires connecting it to the all-river.
Throughout this, Much GRID was had, on the beastly peecee, and, though troubling at first, it became easier, as skills developed, and became like unto a second life to the wanderer.
But he was a wanderer no longer.
And though it was far from finished, they enjoyed this land, and they called this land:
The Office.

Not the tv show. An actual office. A room, for officiating.

Back from the dead! Here to eat the skin of the dead! I return to your land and I bring with me t3h h4xx0rzzz!

That's why The Arm came for you...

Hey there. true believers! It's amazing what a good bath and shower can do, isn't it? I haven't had a shower that good in...a long time. A very long time. This is the first night in Portofino, but not in our unit, not yet. We still need counter tops, appliances, plumbing and blinds, so we're being put up in the guest suite on the fifteenth floor. It is basically a hotel room, bed, bathroom and mini-fridge.
I had a whirlpool bath and then a shower, and I feel so incredibly relaxed and refreshed that I could just evaporate. I like to sink into the tub just until my ears are submerged, but with my face still exposed, so that all I can hear is the whir of the tub, and all I can feel is the pressure of the jets, and it's like there's nothing in the world that can bother me, no stress, no exhaustion, no outside forces whatsoever. Absolutely fantastic, you must try it.
We'll hopefully be in the new place by Thursday, so that will be nice. Very excited, and up until twenty minutes ago, very stressed out. Things are falling into place, but there are still too many variable for me to be completely sure about everything. We still have a lot of stuff in the old unit that needs to be out of there, but nowhere to put it. If it's not gone by Thursday, I suppose we'll have to haul it on down to the old Val de Ville (Value Village). Or maybe Salvation Army, or Bibles for Missions. I suppose either of those is better than VV, but who knows, really.

P.S. Listen to the new Islands album (Arm's Way), it will blow your mind. At least track 1.

The Arm - Islands

You! You got what I need...

...but you say he just a friend.
Seriously, it's in my head.

I sold my TV today (Sorry Bra), I mean, I've had no interest in any of my stuff, and today everyone wanted the TV. I had to be fair, I guess. W-Evs.
I am so busy lately, I am so looking forward to maxin' and relaxin' once the move is done and we are settled. There is just so much to do,l and I feel like there is not enough time. Also, my head is exploding. Kaboom! Kraka-boom! I've been feeling really stifled, creatively, too. I want to create things, music especially, but am so limited at the moment, I don't have a relaxing place that is conducive to my creativity. Also: I can't play any musical instruments. This is something I'd like to remedy. I'm going to go look at used keyboard tomorrow. Maybe not tomorrow, have Church and Morpeth and Chatham already on the schedule, siiiiigh. It's hard to find a good keyboard that doesn't cost a bundle. I'd like to get one with weighted keys, and that has built in speakers, or at least a built in audio processor. I want to hook it up to the Gallos, but I don't necessarily want to hook it up through the PC. I may end up doing that though, because I can get an M-Audio semi-weighted MIDI controller for a good price. It will all boil down in the end.
That's it for me today, nothing revolutionary, no countdown, just a little ramble to clear my head before I get to bed.

Thanks for sticking with me.

23:01:10

We are creeping ever forward. The countdown is grossly inaccurate, as the unit will certainly be done before June 1st. Our kitchen cabinets were shipped today, so allow for delivery time and then installation time, then there is just some polish left and our until is done.
Excited to move, but woefully unprepared.
I set up two of the new Gallos and the Sub, as well. I wasn't sure what to expect, worrying that surely, they weren't going to sound that much better than my bookshelf Sonys. Boy, was I ever blown away. Reproduction is so clear, crisp, and fast. I can close my eyes, and I can almost believe I'm there, the sound is that real. I was able to finally completely relax, lose myself in the music, and I actually drifted off to sleep on the couch. I was woken up quickly though, as Mal can't really sit still for very long, and started doing things. I don't get that but hey, to each their own. I may have to buy some decent speakers for the bedroom now, and convince Mal that we should listen to music in bed. I believe that I could get to sleep more easily. The music is able to distract me, to pull my mind away from the constant tasks it has, to separate it fro m the worries and stresses of the day, and lull me off into calm relaxiland.
I don't even want my computer speakers now, though. They sound like mud.
Crud.

28:10:55

I am tired and kind of grumpy. Also very excited though! It's a jumble, really. Not much else to say. We're going to for Thai food tonight, at a friend's cousin's restaurant, so that seems exciting.

Ok, I have to go now, my car is ready! The tire was repaired! huzzah!

Ok bye.

34:07:26

We are slowly moving forward. The tiles are in at the condo! They look awesome! Why is the light flashing on my xbox controller? Only time will tell. Maybe it's a bomb! Gasp! Maybe I'M a bomb!
We bought a TV today! Yay! Hurrah! It was on sale at the shop of the future, and it's a great set and the price was right, so we said: "Hey let's get it!" and we did. Also, it fits PERFECTLY in the RDV. It's as if they were made for each other.
Did you catch that? How I abbreviated Rendezvous to RDV? That's how the cool kids do it on the Buick forums.
We did our taxes yesterday! Taxes! Tax refunds! Hurrah!
We went and looked at some more tables, too, and they were either too big or too small. Sigh. I sure wish there was an unfinished furniture store in Windsor, as I have neither the time nor the patience to drive to london to visit Corner Furniture, whose staff can't really answer an email properly. "Oh You gave me a description of what you're looking for in a table, and you're from Windsor? Rather than giving you a price, I'll let you know the store hours, so that you can drive two hours to come see some tables that we may or may not have." Fun=no. Three more days until I get the new speakers, too. Everything's comin' up Milhouse!

38:01:39

The big move is coming closer and closer. Well, not the big move, I guess. The moderate move is coming closer. The moderate move, precursor to the big move. I am finding that buying a new TV is stressful. Not like before, before I would look at TVs, and delighted in taking my time, finding the best picture for the best price, enjoying the search. As soon as you tack a deadline on that, even if it is ~38 days, it takes the fun out of it. Now I can't wait for the perfect deal, I have to find a TV and I have to find it soon. Also concerning is the configuration of the new living room. Not incredibly conducive to a standard viewing setup, let alone a 5.1 system. I know I'll make it work, but it will take all my craft and wit, jammed into the next 38 days. I still haven't called Giovanni to see if they've laid the carpet yet, and, if they haven't, if I can lay some flat speaker wire before they do. The problem there is that I am still uncertain of where things will sit. I mean, I have an idea, but that may change, and then I am left with useless, expensive. flat speaker wire. Sigh!
Still very excited about the new place, too, so that helps. It's interesting to not be able to sleep because I am preoccupied with plans for the new desk, rather than not sleeping because I can't It's still no fun, but it's definitely interesting.
This is such a blog post.

What's happened to me?

Also, I'm fixated on the idea of learning the guitar. The problem with this being that I only really like the look of one guitar. The Gibson SG, king of all guitars. Now, I know I'm not getting a Gibson, because I have <$2000 to spend on a guitar. Epiphone, a Gibson sister company, makes gorgeous replica SGs that are actually affordable. I would still like to play the violin as well, and the piano. I wish I hadn't been such an idiot when I was younger, and pursued my musical training, rather than abandoning it. I want to appreciate the music I listen to for more than just the basic sound. I want to understand it, and to be a part of it, even if it's only for myself. I would also like to take a stab at songwriting. It's hard to sing and play a violin at the sang time. As well, I doubt my ability to sing well, believe it or not. Well, things will work themselves out in the end. they have a way of doing that.

Terrification

It's driving me crazy, having all these ideas bouncing around inside my tiny little skull. I feel like I'm out of sync with the world, like I don't belong in this place or time. I long for the epic quest, the saving of the world through daring deeds. Maybe not even saving the world, maybe just being here while the world is ending, feeling as though something was happening.
I think I just realized that I am absolutely terrified of the blank page. The empty space. I almost didn't write this post, just like I haven't written hundreds of posts before, because it was easier to run away than to try and fill up that little white box. The problem is that the little white box looks big, it looks gigantic, and it's terrifying, how can I ever fill that? It does not make much sense, I know, because I could not fill it if I tried, because it's just a text box, which will grow to accommodate whatever I put within it's boundaries.
Maybe it's also terrifying because I have all these ideas in my head, I mena, I've been living in various fantasies as long as I can remember, so there's really no shortage. I'm afraid though, still, of something. I'm afraid of not living up to what I want to be, a Writer, with a capital W. It's too hard and I'm not good enough.
Well, of course I'm not good enough. I don't write! How would I be good enough? How often does someone sit down and tap out the world's best novel? I'm fairly sure it's never happened, so why do I expect that of myself? I guess it all comes back to that longing. I don't want to be mediocre, I'm terrified and angered by being mediocre, and that is truly ridiculous. I expect too much. Only in some regards, though, such as this. Anything professional, really, I need to be above and beyond, but without having to apply the extra effort.
Some days I'd like nothing better than to be mediocre, to be satisfied with the simpler things, to be able to relax. I guess I just have to keep working on that. Because the only one who can help myself, in this respect, is me.