if you hate the taste of wine ...
I love to write. I don't think I've ever shared that with anyone. It's therapy and it gives me focus and clarity. I use it for therapy, and it really has always been a career consideration of mine -- the only problem is my writing lacks organization or elegance. I cannot always articulate exactly what I want to portray so I ramble on and on, piecing together incongruent thoughts, hoping it somehow comes together as a whole idea that paints the truth I was searching for. I blame this on my tangled mind. My thoughts can never be laid out, side by side, for me to examine individually -- they all pile on top of one another and break into pieces. I may be able to pull out on tangible notion -- but I have to set it aside and dig for the rest of it, and during the shuffle it somehow ends up back in the mess. It's a losing battle -- but for some reason the challenge is a thrill for me.
I'd love to develop into a great author or journalist, or even a poet. Poetry seems like something I could conquer, only because it is brief and focuses on one central idea, obscured by meter and metaphore.
I have really been considering pursuing this as a major but I get discouraged when I remember the likelihood of my ever reaching a level where I can interpret emotion and nature for a distinguished audience.
So I pushed this aside and revisted the idea of focusing on art. I miss painting and drawing so much. I really have been craving a blank easle and paints for a long time now -- but then I remembered the likelihood of ever making a career or living off of painting -- and I know my inability to multi-task on things I am passionate about, would never permit me to keep painting as "just a side hobby". I can't handle that ...I really am an "all-or-nothing" type. I also remembered how much my demand for perfectionism hendered my artistic process. It takes me entirely too long to complete any one project because I won't accept anything sub-par from myself ... so anything that comes out below standards I've set, ends up thrown aside ... this is something I cannot help so there really is no point in teasing myself into thinking I could ever be an artist as I would have it.
So I'm left in the middle of gray again. I know I've got some great creative abilities that I have been smoothering and blacking-out, replacing them with other's ideas and and allowing myself to be influenced by all the wrong sources. And I can only describe my state as "gray". I'm stuck at a critical point where I feel I will combust if I don't DO something with myself -- I have no direction anymore -- all of my interests are fading and things I once held alot of passion for are becoming dull and cumbersome. Truth be told -- I don't think I was ever really passionate about some of the things I told myself I was. I was just hoping they'd be my ticket out of here and into the center of action and recognition.
I feel like Alice in that one scene from Alice in Wonderland when she is stading on that path in the woods and then along comes the dog with a broom for a nose, and he is sweeping away the path behind her- when he reaches her he skips around the patch she is standing on and continues on sweeping away the path that was in front of her -- leaving her directionless and alone in the middle of some dark woods.
I'm doing things for all the wrong reasons.
And I've been doing all the wrong things.
I don't even have reasons -- I just DO to be doing something.
There is no goal in sight anymore and my heart aches for one thing in this world I cannot have -- and it will never be available to me. My desire for the unattainable is stronger and deadlier than ever. I can feel my light dimming and I am letting myself slip into anonymity. I want more than anything to shake this dust of lonliness that has coated my heart .. it really is weighing me down. But there is only one who can do that -- and they seem too far and out of reach ...I don't know what to do. I want to LIVE again and feel passion.
I'd love to develop into a great author or journalist, or even a poet. Poetry seems like something I could conquer, only because it is brief and focuses on one central idea, obscured by meter and metaphore.
I have really been considering pursuing this as a major but I get discouraged when I remember the likelihood of my ever reaching a level where I can interpret emotion and nature for a distinguished audience.
So I pushed this aside and revisted the idea of focusing on art. I miss painting and drawing so much. I really have been craving a blank easle and paints for a long time now -- but then I remembered the likelihood of ever making a career or living off of painting -- and I know my inability to multi-task on things I am passionate about, would never permit me to keep painting as "just a side hobby". I can't handle that ...I really am an "all-or-nothing" type. I also remembered how much my demand for perfectionism hendered my artistic process. It takes me entirely too long to complete any one project because I won't accept anything sub-par from myself ... so anything that comes out below standards I've set, ends up thrown aside ... this is something I cannot help so there really is no point in teasing myself into thinking I could ever be an artist as I would have it.
So I'm left in the middle of gray again. I know I've got some great creative abilities that I have been smoothering and blacking-out, replacing them with other's ideas and and allowing myself to be influenced by all the wrong sources. And I can only describe my state as "gray". I'm stuck at a critical point where I feel I will combust if I don't DO something with myself -- I have no direction anymore -- all of my interests are fading and things I once held alot of passion for are becoming dull and cumbersome. Truth be told -- I don't think I was ever really passionate about some of the things I told myself I was. I was just hoping they'd be my ticket out of here and into the center of action and recognition.
I feel like Alice in that one scene from Alice in Wonderland when she is stading on that path in the woods and then along comes the dog with a broom for a nose, and he is sweeping away the path behind her- when he reaches her he skips around the patch she is standing on and continues on sweeping away the path that was in front of her -- leaving her directionless and alone in the middle of some dark woods.
I'm doing things for all the wrong reasons.
And I've been doing all the wrong things.
I don't even have reasons -- I just DO to be doing something.
There is no goal in sight anymore and my heart aches for one thing in this world I cannot have -- and it will never be available to me. My desire for the unattainable is stronger and deadlier than ever. I can feel my light dimming and I am letting myself slip into anonymity. I want more than anything to shake this dust of lonliness that has coated my heart .. it really is weighing me down. But there is only one who can do that -- and they seem too far and out of reach ...I don't know what to do. I want to LIVE again and feel passion.