11.9.15
Ugh....what do you do when you meet a man who has more confidence in you than you have in yourself...who believes in your writing simply based on your voice and yet you can barely write 750 words without wanting to weep at your own ineptitude.
Why is this so difficult for me now...words used to pour out...now I feel like I have to fight for each and everyone and everyone of those is a failure.
Some say you don't really fear failure, but actually success....I don't fear success....I fear that while I want a talent...and hint at talent....that there is actually nothing but beige brown boringness...
But this man has triggered something...a spark that has been burning so low for so long that the fact that it burns at all any longer...well, I don't know if its revivable but there does appear to be at least a hint of blue so here I am trying to see if this might work.
Fake it till you make it right? It kind of works for public speaking, so might it kind of work for this? Do I want to be a kind of writer? Is that better than not being any kind of writer at all?
God...who knew 750 words were so many...211...seriously?
So this man....he claims he sees genius in me...that it goes unseen, even by me...can he be right? Or is he just interestingly delusional? He's already stroked the kitty so there's no need to continue to stroke the ego...
The man has such strength of soul, such cult of personality (sorry Cult), such a driving sense of confidence in self that there may be enough left over to bleed into me.
He makes me want to be a better man...ok, better woman...does the 750 count if you're stealing words from somewhere else?
He had me at hello...
When you meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start right now...
He completes me...
Blech...and swoon...and sigh...and YIKES...this Man...he touches parts of my mind, and my soul, and my spirit....they haven't been touched in sooooo long...it makes those parts wiggle and giggle and jive....and it makes them quiver, and clutch, and cry...
It's amazing that fear and hope can be identical twins...can consume so much of the same space at the same time...
The one that you feed....that's the one that lives says the Cherokee...
And I can't help but to feed my fear...she's insatiable...and she's so spoiled, so used to getting her own way, so used to being the HBIC.
She's screaming at me...reminding me how stupid, and simple, and unlovable I really am....reminding me that no one of any real quality could ever really love me...would ever want to stick around....that any charm or wit or brightness in me is a mask...one that slips all the time and could never possibly be real or true or permanent
She screams so loud for so long that she wears me down...into my head into my bed...into a fetal ball of tears in the dark that never wants to get up...that just want to sleep so she'll be silent for a while...
But hope....my god she tries so hard...she's so resilient...she's been beaten down over and over and over...and yet her little hand continues to go up sometimes and her sweet voice says maybe...just maybe this time....maybe this time...this one...this thing....this...its the right one...the good one...the one that will stay...the one that will show us that we are worthy....
I want to pick her up and nestle her to me, whisper to her that it's ok to want this...it's ok to feel the flickers of joy and happiness and life and that even if fear comes reigning down upon us I'll protect her...while I'm huddled in the dark I will hold her close to me so that fear doesn't find her...I will shelter her next to my heart so that when I have the courage to wake up and start again, she will be with me...
That just like the last 44 years I will shelter her so that while so far she's not had the opportunity to thrive, there is still a someday, there is a still a maybe, there is still a possibility that one day my girls can trade places and hope will preside and abide and fear will be the tiny one...the one I keep safe and small and shelter, because she too has her place....and I love her too...
Ugh....what do you do when you meet a man who has more confidence in you than you have in yourself...who believes in your writing simply based on your voice and yet you can barely write 750 words without wanting to weep at your own ineptitude.
Why is this so difficult for me now...words used to pour out...now I feel like I have to fight for each and everyone and everyone of those is a failure.
Some say you don't really fear failure, but actually success....I don't fear success....I fear that while I want a talent...and hint at talent....that there is actually nothing but beige brown boringness...
But this man has triggered something...a spark that has been burning so low for so long that the fact that it burns at all any longer...well, I don't know if its revivable but there does appear to be at least a hint of blue so here I am trying to see if this might work.
Fake it till you make it right? It kind of works for public speaking, so might it kind of work for this? Do I want to be a kind of writer? Is that better than not being any kind of writer at all?
God...who knew 750 words were so many...211...seriously?
So this man....he claims he sees genius in me...that it goes unseen, even by me...can he be right? Or is he just interestingly delusional? He's already stroked the kitty so there's no need to continue to stroke the ego...
The man has such strength of soul, such cult of personality (sorry Cult), such a driving sense of confidence in self that there may be enough left over to bleed into me.
He makes me want to be a better man...ok, better woman...does the 750 count if you're stealing words from somewhere else?
He had me at hello...
When you meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start right now...
He completes me...
Blech...and swoon...and sigh...and YIKES...this Man...he touches parts of my mind, and my soul, and my spirit....they haven't been touched in sooooo long...it makes those parts wiggle and giggle and jive....and it makes them quiver, and clutch, and cry...
It's amazing that fear and hope can be identical twins...can consume so much of the same space at the same time...
The one that you feed....that's the one that lives says the Cherokee...
And I can't help but to feed my fear...she's insatiable...and she's so spoiled, so used to getting her own way, so used to being the HBIC.
She's screaming at me...reminding me how stupid, and simple, and unlovable I really am....reminding me that no one of any real quality could ever really love me...would ever want to stick around....that any charm or wit or brightness in me is a mask...one that slips all the time and could never possibly be real or true or permanent
She screams so loud for so long that she wears me down...into my head into my bed...into a fetal ball of tears in the dark that never wants to get up...that just want to sleep so she'll be silent for a while...
But hope....my god she tries so hard...she's so resilient...she's been beaten down over and over and over...and yet her little hand continues to go up sometimes and her sweet voice says maybe...just maybe this time....maybe this time...this one...this thing....this...its the right one...the good one...the one that will stay...the one that will show us that we are worthy....
I want to pick her up and nestle her to me, whisper to her that it's ok to want this...it's ok to feel the flickers of joy and happiness and life and that even if fear comes reigning down upon us I'll protect her...while I'm huddled in the dark I will hold her close to me so that fear doesn't find her...I will shelter her next to my heart so that when I have the courage to wake up and start again, she will be with me...
That just like the last 44 years I will shelter her so that while so far she's not had the opportunity to thrive, there is still a someday, there is a still a maybe, there is still a possibility that one day my girls can trade places and hope will preside and abide and fear will be the tiny one...the one I keep safe and small and shelter, because she too has her place....and I love her too...
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