2003-03-03 | SAME OLD SONG

Lack of inspiration. Could be from lack of response. It's not about what I want. It's more about what I think I deserve. I think I deserve some notoriety. Or kudos. Or whatever word you prefer to have in mind when telling someone that they're great.

Lack of care. Could be a reflection of theirs.

Careless whispers. Quoting Wham! Feeling damned.

2 days more of work. then 3 days off.

That's what I have to look forward to.

What I have to deal with is the fact that I should be in a better place then this. Not location. Not mentally. It's just that I should have a job that I enjoy, and where I can flourish creatively, and where I would get my proper praise. And making a lot of money would be fun, too, but it wouldn't matter as much if I loved going to my workplace consistently. Don't worry, I blame myself.

I don't want pity.

The only I thing I want right now, or rather, that I think I deserve, is some props for my semi-exceptional writing.

One person leaves a comment every week, and she always puts something dumb.

The only ones that are productive and constructive on a regular basis are Stephanie, Juawana, Dave, Meg, and Ryan (when he wasn't M.I.A.)

There are also a couple of newcomers who have been very nice so far, and I thank you more then you know for that.

I appreciate being appreciated.

I do think I deserve a tad more though.

A tad the size of Tad Doyle.

Lack of feeling. Even though at times I feel I'm slowly healing. I'm not reeling. I'm striving for the ceiling. I am trying to pave the way for what I see in the distance, but it seems it takes for ever for it to dry. If I had planned better, I could be there already. Or if I had more strength, I could leap past the now, and just go for it. I guess since I know I'll get their anyway, I don't mind waiting a little longer.

But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna kick myself for slacking these past few years.

And for not "applying myself", as my teachers used to love to say.

It's tough to admit they are wrong. And mom, too. And all the other people who think I'm gifted, and wonder why I'm just one of them. Well, I'll always be one of them, and they'll always be a part of me, but they believe, and I believe I am wasting my time being even Steven when I could be overachiever Beaver.

Whatever, y'all aint readin' this anyway.

Or you stopped way up top because you've heard it before.

I guess I don't care, because when I go out on a limb, and try and create something on here that is above the norm, and creatively abundant, nobody notices either. So every once in a while, I just type something like this, and whine about why I'm not successful yet. I'm like the guy at the end of the bench for a basketball team, moping around, giving up hope, shutting down, and wondering what I did to end up on the end of the bench.

Instead of getting up, and proving my skills. Demanding a shot. Working my ass off.

It's weird when your self-doubt, your frustrations and your aspirations are involved in a three way dance in your head, with the last man standing claiming total ownership. It's worse when you know that your talent and aspirations are the strongest man, but they keep on losing to lesser opponents. It's sad. It doesn't make sense. But it's my own damn fault.

Like I say over and over again.....

It doesn't really matter, because I know I will make it in more ways then one. But waiting for it to come sucks. Waiting for people to notice what I know is already there. It's frustrating, because it's right there in front of them, and they can't even see it. They don't want to see it. They don't believe it can be that good.

But it is. And I guess I have to keep re-proving myself. I don't know what good complaining does, but doing nothing at all doesn't help either, so I may as well acknowledge the problem, and do everything I can to eliminate it.

I've diagnosed it, but the hardest part of curing it, is knowing where to start.

I've got ideas.

I've got too many ideas sometimes.

It wouldn't be too many if I had a place to broadcast them.

But the ideas that are holding me back, may be doing so because I'm overthinking.

Then there are the ideas that could make me a rich and famous man.

But without a start, and a literary agent, and solicited inquiries, they mean nothing.

I can't call Conan O'Brien myself, and tell him I have this can't miss idea for one of his famous bits. (Conan in the Aisle)

But how do I get an agent?

Well, I guess I could start trying to get one. I mean it can't hurt any more then sitting on my ass does.

I could start writing letters.

I think of part of this diary as a manuscript in progress. But what will they think? Will they even acknowledge this as anything close to published work.

I have a published poem, but what does it mean for what I want to accomplish?

I don't want to be a poet.

I want to be a screenwriter, songwriter, musician, rapper, and/or author, with poetic tendencies.

It's funny.

At certain times I write, and I can't believe how flawless it is. I surprise myself.

Then I write an entry like this, complaining about not being recognized for my writing, and it comes out completely unstructured, and unorganized.

Each word is a contradiction of every other word in the entry. Every sentence answers the question of why I suck. But then again, sometimes the ones I think suck, get more responses then the ones that blow me away.

Audiences are so finicky.

I notice it when I watch Conan, too. Some of his highest-quality stuff gets ignored, but whenever he mentions boobies, the crowd goes wild.

I may never be a Conan.

But I vow to never be below Rick Dees.

Once I make it, that is.

For now, we amateurs can all make fun of celebrity failures 'til our mouths are dry, but the fact is they are still celebrities, and even if they've only had one day of success, that's more then we've ever had.

So until then, I'll just shut up.

Shit. I fucked that plan up, too.

Oh, well.

From now on, right?

Yeah, right.

- premature ejaculation | tantra +