My mind has been stranded for the past few days. (Honestly, weeks, months, years, forever.) Reading amateur novels found online, something that gives me both hope and despair - the ease of publishing just about anything you write and finding a readership (there will always be someone who will read what you write, just as there is a fan for every fetish) vs. the lack of standards, of control, of quality, of “I don’t want to write like this at all; only, I must be writing worse, ohgod-ohgod-ohgod”.

The lack of talent and ambition, the same, really. It’s the ones that work the hardest, I believe, that gets things done, who get better at what they do. Shouldn’t I be good at something worthwhile by now? But what would that be? It all depends on the meter and the bones of whose life one judges.

I used to think I had so many things to say. Now I find my mouth is empty, my tongue frozen. There is nothing meaningful. No meaning.

And how does one go, scrapping one’s life off from the floor again? Why bother when it looks no different from the rest of the debris? I remember this; this has happened before. Cycles and seasons ago, different rooms and different faces engulf me, but the same, all the same. It gets lower, but no deeper, this gulf of bleakness; it’s inescapable but maybe there’s no desire to run away. Maybe the escape is in the running.

The doubt overflows and I find myself confronted by some reality of sorts: my favourite barista turns to me and asks me for advice. On the university degree she should choose, the fears of a future career with no forseeable path. Soon, her brother Alex joins us, equally worried. I am comforted by this notion of family, of the love and concern he shows. There is hope yet.

I sit for an hour (less, more, who knows?) answering all their questions, regaling them with anecdotes and themes of reassurance. It will be tough, I say, but not that tough. Certainly not impossible. I sound like someone who has made it, made it out alive. I believe I made them feel better. Isn’t that all that matters?

Being good, to others, and to oneself? Maybe it’s time to start over. This time I’ll be good to me.

~ * ~

Current Mood: Falling up.
Current Music:

• Howie Day - Collide
• Nada Surf - Blonde on Blonde
• Sheryl Crow - Always On Your Side

All My Little Words:
Penélope (frag. I) and Penélope (frag. II). Guess I’m writing again. Go read.